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ENGLISH    PEDAGOGY 


FIRST      SERIES 


EDUCATION 


ENGLISH    LITERATURE 


I  S7^3 


RE  PUB  LIS  he'd     from 

Baniar(Ps   American    Joia-nal  of  Education 


SECOND      EDITION 


SYRACUSE,  N.  Y. 
C.    W.    BARDEEN,    PUBLISHER 


PREFACE. 


In  the  following  chapters,  prepared  originally  as  articles  for  "  The 
American  Journal  of  Education,''^  the  editor  does  not  profess  to 
give  a  connected  or  exhaustive  view  of  English  Pedagogy,  but 
simply  to  contribute  material  for  such  a  development  of  the  subject, 
and  at  the  same  time  to  bring  together  a  large  amount  of  suggestive 
thoughts  on  the  principles  and  methods  of  education  from  the  suc- 
cessive publications  of  eminent  teachers  and  writers  of  England, 
from  Roger  Ascham  to  Herbert  Spencer. 

To  give  variety  and  interest  to  these  articles,  we  have  introduced 
the  portraitures  of  the  school  and  the  teacher,  which  some  of  the 
most  admired  writers  in  the  English  Language  have  drawn  in  prose 
and  verse,  as  reflecting  the  popular  estimate  in  which  education 
and  its  disciples  have  been  and  are  still  held,  and  as  helping  to  per- 
petuate that  estimate,  both  in  England  and  iu  this  country. 

In  a  subsequent  volume,  we  hope  to  make  another  contribution  to 
the  material  for  a  History  of  Education  in  England,  drawn  from 
authors  omitted  in  this  collection. 

HENRY  BARNARD, 
Editor  of  the  American  Journal  of  Education. 
Haetford,   Connecticut. 


CONTENTS, 


Introduction, 9  to  20 

What  is  EducationI    Defined  by  Eminent  English  Authorities, 11 

PART    II. 

Treatises  and  Thoughts  on  Education, 20  to  400 

Roger  Ascham,  1515  to  1568, 21  to  76 

Memoir, -•' 

ToxoPHiLus  :  or  the  Art  of  Scliootinge, 39 

The  Schoolmaster, 45 

Annotations, ''•' 

Lord  Burleigh  ;  Advice  to  his  Son, 55 

Lord  Bacon,  1561  to  1626, 17  to  122 

Memoir, '^7 

Influence  of  his  Method  of  Philosophy  on  Education  and  Schools, 79 

Essay  on  Custom  and  Education, 79 

Annotations.     By  Archbishop  Whately, 97 

Essay  on  Studies, l"-* 

Annotations.    By  Archbishop  Whately, 105 

Sir  Henry  Wotton,  1568  to  1639, 123  to  144 

Memoir ^ -3 

Apothegms  on  Education, I''" 

John  Milton,  1608  to  1074 145  to  190 

Memoir, ^'^5 

Home,  School  and  College  Education.     By  D.  Masson, 160 

Tractate  on  Education, 1'8 

Annotations, 1™ 

Early  Promoters  of  Practical  Science  in  England, 188 

Charles  Hoole— Object  Teaching, 189 

Abraham  Cowley— Plan  of  Philosophical  College 190 

Samuel  Hartlib,  1610  to  1664, 191  to  198 

Memoir, 188 

Plan  of  an  Agricultural  College,  1651, 191 

Sir  "William  Petty,  1623  to  1666, 199  to  208 

Memoir 189 

Plan  of  an  Industrial  or  Trade  School, 199 

John  Locke,  1632  to  1704, 209  to  342 

Memoir 209 

Survey  of  Pedagogical  System, 215 

Thoughts  on  Education— Entire, 223 

Herbert  Spencer,  1805, 343  to  400 

Thoughts  on  Education— Selected, 345 

*  Volume  V.  of  Barnard's  AMERICAN  LIBRARY  OF  EDUCATION. 


PART   III. 

Pack. 

The  School  and  the  Teacher  in  English  Literature, 401  to  464 

Thomas  Fuller,  1608  to  1087, 403  to  408 

The  Good  Schoolmaster, 403 

Oliver  Goldsmith,  1728  to  1784, 407 

The  Village  Schoolmaster 507 

William  Shenstone,  1714  to  1763, 409  to  426 

The  Schoolmistress, 409 

Annotations, 417 

The  Country  Scliooi  in  France,  Delille 400 

The  Usher,  Lloyd 408 

The  Schoolmistress  in  Scotland,  Giltillan, 417 

''  "  New  England,  Burton, 422 

The  Birch,  a  Poem, 423 

The  Rod,  a  Poem, 424 

The  Horn-Book, 425 

Thomas  Gray,  1716  to  1771, 427  to  432 

Ode  on  the  Distant  Prospect  of   Eton  College, 437 

Alliance  of  Education  and  Government, 439 

"William  Cowper,  1731  to  1800, 433  to  454 

Tirocinium;  or  a  Review  of  Schools, 434 

Discipline, 453 

George  Crabbe,  1707  to  1832, 455  to  463 

Schools  of  the  Boroitgr, 455 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge,  1774  to  1834, 464 

LovK,  Hope,  and  Patience  in  the  Teacher 464 


^  English  Pedagogy-Old  akd  New:  or,  Treatises  and  Thoughts  on 
Education,  the  School,  and  the  Teacher  in  English  Literature.  Second 
Series.  Republished  from  Barnard's  American  Journal  of  Education. 
628  pages.     $3.00.     1873. 


CONTENTS. 


Page. 

Introduction i-xvi 

Contents  and  Index  of  First  Series '* 

Art.  I.  The  Endowed  Grammar  Schools  and  Secondary  Education  1-176 

Characteristic  Features 1 

Chronological  Establishment •» 

Henry  VI.  and  Eton  College,  Windsor 5 

Merchant  Taylors'  School 9 

Shrewsbury  Free  Grammar  School U 

II.  William  of  Wickiiam  and  St.  Mary's  College 13 

Memoir  and  Educational  Work 13 

St.  Mary's  College — Constitution — Studies — Condition,  &.c...       17 

III.  Dean  Colet  and  St.  Paul's  School,  London 49 

Memoir — Erasmus — Lilly — Rytwise 49 

St.  Paul's  School— Statutes— Studies— Condition 59 

IV.  General  Survey  of  the  Great  Public  Schools 81-117 

V.  Greek  Language  in  Public  Schools 118 

VL  Grammar  Schools— Modern  and  Ancient 129-1 76 

Dr.  Arnold  and  Rugby  School 97-129 

Cardinal  Volsey  and  Ipswich  Grammar  School— 1528.  155-173 

VIL  Pedagogy  op  the  Old  Masters 177-324 

Richard  Mulcaster ^ 1'^'^ 

Elementarie,  or  Writing  op  the  English  Tongue— Io.S] 178 

Positions  Respecting  the  Training  or  Children — LWl 180 

John  Brinsly— 1587-1G65 185 

LUDUS    LiTERARIUS,  OR   THE  GRAMMAR   ScHOOL — 10^7 185 

Charles  Hoole— 1618-1677 189 

English  Edition  of  Comenius's  Orbis  Pictt's 190 

New  Discovery  of  the  Old  Art  of  Teaching 193 

The  Petty  School 193 

Early  English  School  Books 208 

The  Grammar  School -25 

The  Ushers'  Duty 225 

The  Master's  Method '-C7 

Scholastic  Discipline 293 

VIII.  School  Punishments — Historically  Considered 325-336 

The  Strap— Ferule— Rod— Bircii-Taws 325 

IX.  Alexander  Pope— Robert  South— Sir  Richard  Steele.  .  .   337-346 

Thoughts  on  Education 337 

X.  Oliver   Goldsmith— 1731-1744 347-358 

Essay  on  Education 347 

XI.  Samuel  Johnson— 1708-1784 359-364 

Plan  of  Studies  and  Detached  Thoughts 359 

XII.  Samuel  Parr— 1747-1825 365-368 

Charity  School  Sbrmon 3C5 


via. 


ENGLISH   PEDAGOGY— SECOND  SERIES. 


Page. 

XIII.  ExGLisn  Home  Life  and  Education 3G9-400 

The  Evklyn  Family 36D 

Mrs.  Ehzaueth  Sadler  Walker — Mrs.  Lucy  Hutchinson 385 

TiiE  UoYLE  Family — Lady  Ranelaoh — Countess  of  Warwick..  . .  390 

Maroaret  Lucas — Duchess  ok  Newcastle 391 

Anne  Harrison — Lady  Fanshawe 399 

Daughters  of  Sir  Anthony  Cook — Lady  Bacon — Lady  Burleigh  403 

XIV.  Advice  as  to  Education  and  Conduct  for  Public  Life.  . .  401-416 

Sir  Thomas  Elyot 401 

The   Governor,  or  Training  for  the  Common  Weal 403 

Sir  Thomas  Smith 415 

Advertisements  for  Sons  of  Noblemen  and  Counselors 416 

XV.  Education,  the  School,  and  the  Teacher — Continued 417-448 

Daniel  Defoe 417 

Scheme  of  a  University  for  London — An  Academy  of  Music...  421 

Illiteracy  and  Learning — The  Scholar  and  the  Pedant 423 

Essay  upon  Projects — Military  Academies  and  Exercises 419 

Academy  of  English  Philology — Academy  for  Women 420 

Robert  Southey 433 

The  Ho.me  and  Home  Education  of  Doctor  Daniel  Dove 433 

Richard  Guy — The  Schoolm.\ster  of  Ingleton 439 

Dialogue  of  Johannes  Rivisius  Textor 445 

XVI,  Thomas  Babington  Macaulay 449-464 

Academical  Education  in  1826 451 

Objections  to  Oxford  and  Cambridge 451 

Mathe.matics — Classical  Studies — Omissions 451 

London  University — University  Teaching  at  Athens 459 

Elementary  Education  and  the  State 461 

Competitive  Examination  for  THE  India  Civil  Service 461 

XVII.  English  Pedagogy  of  19th  Century 405-544 

Joseph  Payne 465 

The  Science  and  Art  of  Education 465 

The  Kindergarten  System  of  Frcebel 471 

James  Donaldson 481 

The  Science  of  Education 481 

The  Aim  of  Primary  Schools 489 

Henry  Calderwood 497 

On  Teaching — Its  Ends  and  Means 497 

William  Jolly 527 

Plan  of  a  University  Chair  of  Pedagogy 527 

Isaac  Todhuxter 529 

Conflict  of  Studies ^ 529 

R.  H.  Quick 537 

First  Steps  in  Teaching  a  Foreign  Language 537 

XVIIL  Survey  of  English  Schools,  Teachers  and  Teaching 545-604 

Studies  and  Conduct — Index 545 

Primary  Schools  and  Elementary  Instruction — Contents 553 

English  Pedagogy — First  Series — Contents 561 

National  Education — Contents 577 

1.  Elementary,  Secondary,  and  Superior  Instruction 577 

2.  Professional  and  Special  Instruction 581 

(1.)  Scientific  Industry  ;  (2.)  Teaching  ;  (.3)  Law  ;  (4.)  The- 
ology ;  (5.)  Medicine;  (6.)  Nursing  ; '('O  War 585 

3.  Supplementary  Schools  and  Agencies 592 

Index  to  English  Pedagogy — Old  and  New — Second  Series 593-604 


PART   I. 

INTRODUCTION. 

WHAT   IS   EDUCATION? 


WHAT  IS  EDUCATIOf^? 

It  has  been  held  that  education,  according  to  its  etymology,  means  a 
drawing  out  of  the  faculties  of  the  mind,  not  a  mere  accumulation  of 
things  in  the  memory ;  and  this  is  probably  substantially  true ;  but  yet 
the  etymology  of  education  is  not,  directly  at  least,  educere,  but  educare. 
Again,  education  has  been  distinguished  from  information  ;  which  may 
well  be  done,  as  the  word  information  is  now  used ;  but  yet  the  word 
informare,  at  first,  implied  as  fundamental  an  operation  on  the  mind  as 
educare;  the  forming  and  giving  a  defined  form  and  scheme  to  a  mere 
rude  susceptibility  of  thought  in  the  human  mind.  Again,  we  use  the 
term  learn^  both  of  the  teacher  and  the  scholar.  (Thus  we  have.  Psalm 
cxix.  66  and  71,  Learn  me  true  understanding  and  knowledge ;  and  I 
will  learn  thy  laws.)  But  the  German  distinguishes  these  two  aspects 
of  the  same  fundamental  notion  by  different  forms — lehren  and  lernen  ; 
and  in  a  more  exact  stage  of  English,  one  of  these  is  replaced  by  another 
word,  to  teach  ;  which,  though  it  is  not  the  representative  of  a  word  used 
in  this  sense  in  German,  is  connected  with  the  German  verb  zeigen,  to 
^  show,  and  zeichen.,  a  sign  or  mark ;  and  thus  directs  us  to  the  French 
i,^^  and  other  daughters  of  the  Latin  language,  in  which  the  same  notion  is 
expressed  by  enseigner,  insegnare,  ensenar  ;  which  come  from  the  Latiu 
insignire,  and  are  connected  with  signum.  W.  WnEWKLi.. 


\ 


\  Education  is  the  process  of  making  individual  men  participators  in  the 

^  best  attainments  of  the  human  mind  in  general :  namely,  in  that  which 
is  most  rational,  true,  beautiful,  and  good  ...  the  several  steps  by  which 
man  is  admitted,  from  the  sphere  of  his  narrow  individuality,  into  the 
great  sphere  of  humanity  ;  by  which,  from  being  merely  a  conscious  ani- 
mal, he  becomes  conscious  of  rationality ;  by  which,  from  being  merely  a 
creature  of  sense,  he  becomes  a  creature  of  intellect ;  by  which,  from  be- 
ing merely  a  seeker  of  pleasurable  sensations,  he  becomes  an  admirer  of 
what  is  beautiful ;  by  which,  from  being  merely  the  slave  of  impulse,  he 
becomes  a  reverencer  of  what  is  right  and  good.  W.  Whewell. 

What  is  a  man 
If  his  chief  good  and  market  of  his  time 
Be  but  to  sleep  and  feed  ? — a  beast,  no  more. 
Sure,  He  that  made  us  with  such  large  discourse. 
Looking  before  and  after,  gave  us  not 
That  capability  and  godlike  reason 
To  rust  in  us  unused.  bnAKSPEARK. 


12  APHOKISM3  ON  EDUCATION. 

In  the  bringing  up  of  youth,  there  are  three  special  points — truth  of 
religion,  honesty  of  livings  and  right  order  in  learning.  In  which  three 
ways,  I  pray  God  my  poor  children  may  walk. 

AscnAM.     Preface  to  Schoolmaster. 

Many  examples  may  be  put  of  the  force  of  custom,  both  upon  mind 
and  body ;  therefore,  since  custom  is  the  principal  magistrate  of  man's 
life,  let  men  by  all  means  endeavor  to  obtain  good  customs.  Certainly, 
custom  is  most  perfect  when  it  beginneth  in  young  years;  this  we  call 
education,  which  is,  in  effect,  but  an  early  custom.  So  we  see  in  lan- 
guages, the  tone  is  more  pliant  to  all  expressions  and  sounds,  the  joints 
are  more  supple  to  all  feats  of  activity  and  motions  in  youth  than  after- 
wards; for  it  is  true,  the  late  learners  can  not  so  well  take  up  the  ply, 
except  it  be  in  some  minds  that  have  not  suffered  themselves  to  fix,  but 
have  kept  themselves  open  and  prepared  to  receive  continual  amend- 
ment, which  is  exceeding  rare :  but  the  force  of  custom,  copulate  and 
conjoined,  and  collegiate,  is  far  greater  ;  for  there  example  teacheth,  com- 
pany comforteth,  emulation  quickeneth,  glory  raiseth  ;  so  as  in  such 
places  the  force  of  custom  is  in  his  exaltation. 

Lord  Bacon.     Essays.     Custom  and  Education. 

I  call  a  complete  and  generous  education  that  which  fits  a  man  to  per- 
form justly,  skillfully,  and  magnanimously  all  the  offices,  both  private 
and  public,  of  peace  and  war  .  .  .  inflamed  with  a  study  of  learning,  and 
the  admiration  of  virtue ;  stirred  up  with  high  hopes  of  living  to  be  bravo 
men,  and  worthy  patriots,  dear  to  God,  and  famous  to  all  ages. 

JOUN    MiLTOS. 

The  end  of  learning  is  to  repair  the  ruins  of  our  first  parents,  by  regain- 
ing to  know  God  aright,  and  out  of  that  knowledge  to  love  him,  to  imitate 
him,  to  be  like  him,  as  we  may  the  nearest,  by  possessing  our  souls  of 
true  virtue,  which  being  united  to  the  heavenly  grace  of  faith,  makes  up 
the  highest  perfection.  John  Milton. 

First,  there  must  precede  a  way  how  to  discern  the  natural  inclina- 
tions and  capacities  of  children.  Secondly,  next  must  ensue  the  culture 
and  furnishmcnt  of  the  mind.  Thirdly,  the  molding  of  behavior  and 
decent  forms.  Fourthly,  the  tempering  of  affections.  Fifthly,  the  quick- 
ening and  exciting  of  observations  and  practical  judgment.  Sixthly,  and 
the  last  in  order,  but  the  principal  in  value,  being  that  which  must  knit 
and  consolidate  all  the  rest,  is  the  timely  instilling  of  conscientious  prin- 
ciples and  seeds  of  religion.  Sm  Henry  Walton. 

How  great  soever  a  genius  may  be,  and  how  much  soever  he  may  ac- 
quire new  light  and  heat,  as  he  proceeds  in  his  rapid  course,  certain  it  is, 
that  he  will  never  shine  in  his  full  luster,  nor  shed  the  full  influence  he 
IS  capable  of,  unless  to  his  own  experience  he  adds  of  other  men  and 
other  ages.  Bolingbroke. 


WHAT  IS  EDUCATION  1  13 

We  are  born  under  a  law  :  it  is  our  wisdom  to  find  it  out,  and  our 
safety  to  comply  with  it  Dr.  Whichcote. 

Since  the  time  that  God  did  first  proclaim  the  edicts  of  his  law  upon 
the  world,  heaven  and  earth  have  hearkened  unto  his  voice,  and  their 
labor  hath  been  to  do  his  will.  "  He  made  a  law  for  the  rain  ;"  he  gave 
his  "  decree  unto  the  sea,  that  the  waters  should  not  pass  his  command- 
ment." Now,  if  nature  should  intermit  her  course,  and  leave  altogether, 
though  it  were  for  a  while,  the  observation  of  her  own  laws,  if  these 
principal  and  mother  elements  of  the  world,  whereof  all  things  in  this 
lower  world  are  made,  should  lose  the  qualities  which  they  now  have  ; 
if  the  frame  of  that  heavenly  arch  erected  over  our  heads,  should  loosen 
and  dissolve  itself;  if  celestial  spheres  should  forget  their  wonted  mo- 
tions, and  by  irregular  volubility  turn  themselves  any  way  as  it  may 
happen  ;  if  the  prince  of  the  lights  of  heaven,  which  now,  as  a  giant,  doth 
run  his  unwearied  course,  should,  as  it  were,  through  a  languishing 
faintness,  begin  to  stand,  and  to  rest  himself;  if  the  moon  should  wander 
from  her  beaten  way,  the  times  and  seasons  of  the  year  blend  themselves 
by  disordered  and  confused  mixture,  the  winds  breathe  out  their  last 
gasp,  the  clouds  yield  no  rain,  the  earth  be  defeated  of  her  heavenly  in- 
fluence, the  fruits  of  the  earth  pine  away,  as  children  at  the  withered 
breasts  of  their  mother  no  longer  able  to  yield  them  relief;  what  would 
become  of  man  himself,  whom  these  things  do  now  all  serve  ?  See  we 
not  plainly,  that  obedience  of  creatures  unto  the  law  of  nature  is  the  stay 
of  the  whole  world. 

Of  law  there  can  be  no  less  acknowledged,  than  that  her  seat  is  the  bo- 
som of  God,  her  voice  the  harmony  of  the  world  ;  all  things  in  heaven 
and  earth  do  her  homage,  the  very  least  as  feeling  her  care,  and  the 
greatest  as  not  '^exempted  from  her  power ;  both  angels,  and  men,  and 
creatures  of  what  condition  soever,  though  each  in  different  sort  and  man- 
ner, yet  all  with  uniform  consent,  admiring  her  as  the  mother  of  their 
peace  and  joy.  Eiciiard  Hooker. 

The  knowledge  of  Languages,  Sciences,  Histories,  &c.,  is  not  innate  to 
us  ;  it  doth  not  of  itself  spring  in  our  minds  ;  it  is  not  any  ways  incident 
by  chance,  or  infused  by  grace  (except  rarely  by  miracle) ;  common  ob- 
servation doth  not  produce  it ;  it  can  not  be  purchased  at  any  rate,  except 
by  that  for  which,  it  was  said  of  old,  the  gods  sell  all  things,  that  is,  for 
pains ;  without  which  the  best  wit  and  the  greatest  capacity  may  not  ren- 
der a  man  learned,  as  the  best  soil  will  not  yield  good  fruit  or  grain,  if 
they  be  not  planted  nor  sown  therein.  Br.  Barrow. 

Powers  act  but  weakly  and  irregularly  till  thcj'  are  hightcncd  and 
perfected  by  their  habits.  T>n.  Soutu, 

As  this  life  is  a  preparation  for  eternity,  so  is  education  a  preparation 
for  this  life ;  and  that  education  alone  is  valuable  which  answers  these 
great  primary  objects.  JBisuop  Short. 


14  APHORtSMS  ON  EDUCATION. 

Forasmuch  as  all  knowledge  bcginneth  fioin  experience,  therefore  also 
new  experience  is  the  beginning  of  new  knowledge,  and  the  increase  of 
experience  the  beginning  of  the  increase  of  knowledge  Whatsoever, 
therefore,  happeneth  new  to  a  man,  giveth  him  matter  of  hope  of  know- 
ing somewhat  that  he  knew  not  before.  And  this  hope  and  expectation 
of  future  knowledge  from  any  thing  that  happeneth  new  and  strange,  is 
that  passion  which  we  commonly  call  admiration  ;  and  the  same  consid- 
ered as  appetite,  is  called  curiosity ;  which  is  appetite  of  knowledge.  *  * 
And  from  this  beginning  is  derived  all  philosophy,  as  astronomy  from 
the  admiration  of  the  course  of  heavefi;  natural  philosophy  from  the 
strange  effects  of  the  elements  and  other  bodies.  And  from  the  degrees 
of  curiosity,  proceed  also  the  degrees  of  knowledge  among  men. 

1  Thomas  Hobbes. 

A  sound  mind  in  a  sound  body,  is  a  short  but  full  description  of  a 
happy  state  in  this  world. 

Of  all  the  men  we  meet  with,  nine  parts  often  are  what  they  are,  good 
or  evil,  useful  or  not,  by  their  education.  It  is  that  which  makes  the 
great  difference  in  mankind.  The  little,  or  almost  insensible,  impres- 
sions on  our  tender  infancies,  have  very  important  and  lasting  conse- 
quences :  and  there  it  is,  as  in  the  fountains  of  some  rivers  where  a 
gentle  application  of  the  hand  turns  the  flexible  waters  in  channels,  that 
make  them  take  quite  contrary  courses  ;  and  by  this  little  direction, 
given  them  at  first,  in  the  source,  they  receive  different  tendencies,  and 
arrive  at  least  at  very  remote  and  distant  places. 

That  which  every  gentleman,  that  takes  any  care  of  his  education,  de- 
sires for  his  son,  is  contained  in  these  four  things  :  Virtue,  Wisdom, 
Good-breeding  and  Learning.  I  place  virtue  as  thu  first  and  most  neces- 
sary of  these  endowments  that  belong  to  a  man  or  a  gentleman,  as  abso- 
lutely requisite  to  make  him  valued  and  beloved  by  others,  acceptable  or 
tolerable  to  himself  Without  that,  I  think,  he  will  be  happy  neither  in 
this  nor  the  other  world. 

It  is  virtue,  direct  virtue,  which  is  the  head  and  valuable  part  to  be 
aimed  at  in  education.  All  other  considerations  and  accomplishments 
should  give  way,  and  be  postponed,  to  this.  This  is  the  solid  and  sub- 
stantial good,  which  tutors  should  not  only  read  lectures,  and  talk  of; 
but  the  labor  and  art  of  education  should  furnish  the  mind  with,  and 
fasten  there,  and  never  cease  till  the  young  man  had  a  true  relish  of  it, 
and  placed  his  strength,  his  glory,  and  his  pleasure  in  it. 

As  the  strength  of  the  body  lies  chiefly  in  being  able  to  endure  hard- 
ships, so  al.so  does  that  of  the  mind.  And  the  great  principle  and  foun- 
dation of  all  virtue  and  worth  lies  in  this,  that  a  man  is  able  to  deny 
himself  his  own  desires,  cross  his  own  inclinations,  and  purely  follow 
what  reason  directs  as  best,  though  the  appetite  lean  the  other  way. 

John  Locke.      ThougJits  07i  Education. 

Tis  education  forms  the  common  mind, 

Just  as  the  twig  is  bent  the  tree  is  inclined.         Pope. 


WHAT  IS  EDUCATION  1  15 

Dr,  Johnson  and  I  [Boswell]  took  a  sculler  at  the  Temple  Stairs,  and 
set  out  for  Greenwich.  I  asked  hira  if  he  really  thought  a  knowledge  of 
the  Greek  and  Latin  languages  an  essential  requisite  to  a  good  education. 
Johnson. — "Most  certainly,  sir;  for  those  who  know  them  have  a  very 
great  advantage  over  those  M'ho  do  not  Nay,  sir,  it  is  wonderful  what 
a  difference  learning  makes  upon  people,  even  in  the  common  intercourse 
of  life,  which  does  not  appear  to  be  much  connected  with  it."  And  yet, 
said  I,  people  go  through  the  world  very  well,  and  carry  on  the  business 
of  life  to  good  advantage  without  learning.  Johnson. — "  Why,  sir,  that 
may  be  true  in  cases  where  learning  can  not  possibly  be  of  any  use ;  for 
instance,  this  boy  rows  us  as  well  without  learning  as  if  he  could  sing 
the  song  of  Orpheus  to  the  Argonauts,  who  were  the  first  sailors."  He 
then  called  to  the  boy,  "  What  would  you  give  my  lad  to  know  about 
the  Argonauts?"  "Sir,"  said  the  boy,  "I  would  give  what  I  have." 
Johnson  was  much  pleased  with  his  answer,  and  we  gave  him  a  double 
fare.  Dr.  Johnson  then  turning  to  me,  "  Sir,"  said  he  "  a  desire  of 
knowledge  is  the  natural  feeling  of  mankind ;  and  every  human  being, 
whose  mind  is  not  debauched,  will  be  willing  to  give  all  that  he  has  to 
get  knowledge."  Dr.  Johnson.     BoswelVs  Life. 

If  you  love  learning  you  will  have  learning.  Greek  Proverb. 

Whether  we  provide  for  action  or  conversation,  whether  we  wish  to 
be  useful  or  pleasing,  the  first  requisite  is  the  religious  and  moral  knowl- 
edge of  right  and  wrong ;  the  next  is  an  acquaintance  with  the  history 
of  mankind,  and  with  these  examples  which  may  be  said  to  embody 
truth,  and  prove  by  events  the  reasonableness  of  opinions. 

Those  authors,  therefore,  are  to  be  read  at  school,  that  supply  most 
axioms  or  prudence,  most  principles  of  moral  truth  and  most  materials 
for  conversation ;  and  these  purposes  are  best  served  by  poets,  orators, 
and  historians.  Dr.  Johnson.     Life  of  Milton. 

Education  in  the  most  extensive  sense  of  the  word,  may  comprehend 
every  preparation  that  is  made  in  our  youth  for  the  sequel  of  our  lives  ; 
and  in  this  sense  I  use  it.  Some  such  preparation  is  necessary  for  all 
conditions,  because  without  it  they  must  be  miserable,  and  probably  will 
be  vicious,  when  they  grow  up,  either  from  the  want  of  the  means  of  sub- 
sistence, or  from  want  of  rational  and  inoffensive  occupation.  In  civil- 
ized life,  every  thing  is  effected  by  art  and  skill.  Whence,  a  person  who 
is  provided  with  neither  (and  neither  can  be  acquired  without  exercise 
and  instruction)  will  be  useless  ;  and  he  that  is  useless,  will  generally  be 
at  the  same  time  mischievous  to  the  community.  So  that  to  send  an  un- 
educated child  into  the  world,  is  injurious  to  the  rest  of  mankind  :  it  is 
little  better  than  to  turn  out  a  mad  dog  or  a  wild  beast  into  the  streets. 

Pa  LEY. 

The  primary  principle  of  education  is  the  determination  of  the  pupil  to 
self-activity — the  doing  nothing  for  him  which  he  is  able  to  do  for 
himself.  Sir  William  Hamilton.     Lecture  on  Metaphysics. 


16  APHORISMS  ON  EDUCATION. 

I  consider  a  human  soul  without  education  like  marble  in  the  quarry, 
which  shows  none  of  its  inherent  beauties,  until  the  skill  of  the  polisher 
fetches  out  the  colors,  makes  the  surface  shine,  and  discovers  every  orna- 
mental cloud,  spot,  and  vein,  that  runs  through  the  body  of  it. 

Education,  after  the  same  manner,  when  it  works  upon  a  noble  mind, 
draws  out  to  view  every  latent  virtue  and  perfection,  which,  without  such 
helps,  are  never  able  to  make  their  appearance. 

If  my  reader  will  give  me  leave  to  change  the  allusion  so  soon  upon 
him,  I  shall  make  use  of  the  same  instance  to  illustrate  the  force  of  edu- 
cation, which  Aristotle  has  brought  to  explain  his  doctrine  of  substantial 
forms,  when  he  tells  us  that  a  statue  lies  hid  in  a  block  of  marble ;  and 
that  the  art  of  the  statuary  only  clears  away  superfluous  matter,  and  re- 
moves the  rubbish.  The  figure  is  in  the  stone,  and  the  sculptor  only 
finds  it.  What  sculpture  is  to  the  block  of  marble,  education  is  to  a  hu- 
man soul.  The  philosopher,  the  saint  or  the  hero,  the  wise,  the  good  or 
the  great  man,  very  often  lie  hid  and  concealed  in  a  plebeian,  which  a 
proper  education  might  have  disinterred,  and  have  brought  to  light  *  * 
Those  who  have  had  the  advantages  of  a  more  liberal  education,  rise  above 
one  another  by  several  different  degrees  of  perfection.  For  to  return  to 
our  statue  in  the  block  of  marble,  we  see  it  sometimes  only  begun  to  be 
chipped,  sometimes  rough  hewn,  and  but  just  sketched  into  a  human 
figure  ;  sometimes  we  see  the  man  appearing  distinctly  in  all  his  limbs 
and  features ;  sometimes  we  find  the  figure  wrought  up  to  great  elegancy, 
but  seldom  meet  with  any  to  which  the  hand  of  a  Phidias  or  a  Praxiletes 
could  not  give  several  nice  touches  and  finishings. 

Joseph  Addison. 

Nothing  is  more  absurd  than  the  common  notion  of  instruction ;  as 
if  science  were  to  be  poured  into  the  mind  hke  water  into  a  cistern,  that 
passively  waits  to  receive  all  that  comes.  The  growth  of  knowledge  re- 
sembles the  growth  of  fruit:  however  external  causes  may  in  some 
degree  cooperate,  it  is  the  internal  vigor  and  virtue  of  the  tree  that  must 
ripen  the  juices  to  their  just  maturity.  James  Harris.     Hermes. 

Human  creatures,  from  the  constitution  of  their  nature,  and  the  cir- 
cumstances in  which  they  are  placed,  can  not  but  acquire  habits  during 
their  childhood,  by  the  impressions  which  are  given  them  and  their  own 
customary  actions ;  and  long  before  they  arrive  at  mature  age  these 
habits  form  a  general  settled  character.  And  the  observation  of  the 
text — "  Train  up  a  child  in  the  way  he  should  go ;  and  when  he  is  old 
he  will  not  depart  from  it " — that  the  most  early  habits  are  generally  the 
most  lasting,  is  likewise  every  one's  observation. 

Bishop  Butler. 

Organic  structure,  temperament,  things  affecting  the  senses  or  bodily 
functions,  are  as  closely  linked  with  a  right  play  of  the  faculties,  as  the 
material  and  condition  of  an  instrument  of  music  with  that  wonderful 
result  called  melody.  W.  B.  Clulow. 


WHAT  IS  EDUCATIOM  17 

The  general  principles  of  education  are  the  same,  or  nearly  tlie  same  in 
all  ages,  and  at  all  times.  They  are  fixed  unalterably  in  the  natural  and 
moral  constitution  of  man.  They  are  to  be  found  in  our  affections 
and  passions,  some  of  which  must  be  controlled  and  some  cherished  in 
every  state  of  manners,  and  under  every  foim  of  society.  From  the  right 
apprehensions  of  them,  we  discover  "  the  way  in  which  a  child  ouglit  to 
go,"  and  by  the  right  use  of  them  "  when  he  is  young,"  we  shall  qualify 
him,  "  when  old,"  for  not  departing  from  it. 

Tn  promoting  the  happiness  of  our  species,  n\uch  is  effected  bj'  aulhor- 
it}'^  of  legal  restraint,  and  much  by  public  insti'uction  from  the  pulpit. 
15ut  education,  in  its  large  and  proper  sense,  [of  not  merely  the  inculca- 
tion of  moral  precepts  and  religious  doctrine,  but  a  sj'stem  of  discipline 
applied  to  the  hearts  and  lives  of  young  persons,]  may  boast  even  of  su- 
perior usefulness.  It  comes  home  directly  to  "  the  bosoms  and  business 
of"  young  persons,  it  rectifies  eveiy  principle  and  controls  ever3'^  action  ; 
it  prevents  their  attention  from  being  relaxed  In'^  amusement,  dissipated 
by  levit}',  or  overwhelmed  by  vice ;  it  preserves  them  from  falling  a  prey 
to  the  wicked  examples  of  the  world  when  they  are  in  company,  and  from 
becoming  slaves  to  their  own  turbulent  appetites  when  they  are  in  soli- 
tude. It  is  not  occasional  or  desultory  in  its  operation  ;  on  the  contrary, 
it  heaps  "line  upon  line,  and  pi'ecept  upon  precept;"  it  binds  the  com- 
mands of  religion,  for  a  "sign  upon  the  hands  of  young  men,  and  front- 
lets between  their  eyes;"  it  is  calculated  to  purif)^  their  desires  and  to 
regulate  their  conduct,  when  they  "  sit  in  the  house,  and  w^hen  they  walk 
in  the  wa}- ;"  when  the}'  "  lie  down  in  peace  to  take  their  rest,"  and  when 
they  "rise  up"  to  "go  forth  to  their  labor."  Dr.  Parr. 

What  is  the  education  of  the  generality  of  the  world  ?  Reading  a  par- 
cel of  books?  No.  Restraint  of  discipline,  einulation,  examples  of  virtue 
and  justice,  form  the  education  of  the  world.  Edmund  Burke. 

The  heart  of  a  nation  comes  b)'  priests,  by  law3'ers,  by  philosophers, 
by  schools,  by  education,  by  the  nurse's  care,  the  mother's  anxiety,  the 
father's  severe  brow.  It  comes  by  letters,  by  silence,  by  every  art,  by 
sculpture,  painting,  and  poetry ;  by  the  song  on  war,  on  peace,  on  do- 
mestic virtue,  on  a  beloved  and  magnanimous  king;  by  the  Iliad,  by  the 
Odyssey,  by  tragedy,  by  comedy.  It  comes  by  sympathy,  by  love,  by 
the  marriage  union,  by  friendship,  generosity,  meekness,  temperance ; 
by  virtue  and  example  of  virtue.  It  comes  by  sentiments  of  chivalry,  by 
romance,  by  music,  by  decorations  and  magnificence  of  buildings  ;  by  the 
culture  of  tlie  body,  by  comfortable  clothing,  by  fashions  in  dress,  by 
luxury  and  commerce.  It  comes  by  the  severity,  the  melancholy,  the 
benignity  of  countenance  ;  by  rules  of  politeness,  ceremonies,  formalities, 
solemnities.  It  comes  by  rights  attendant  on  law,  by  religion,  by  the 
oath  of  office,  by  the  venerable  assembly,  by  the  judge's  procession  and 
trumpets,  by  the  disgrace  and  punishment  of  crimes,  by  public  fasts, 
public  prayer,  by  meditation,  by  the  Bible,  by  the  consecration  of 
churches,  by  the  sacred  festival,  by  the  cathedral's  gloom  and  choir. 

Prof.  Ramsden 


18  AIMIORISMS  ON  EDUCATION. 

Education  majbo  coinpaieJ  to  the  grafting  of  a  tree.  Every  gaidcner 
knows  that  the  younger  the  wilding-stock  that  i-s  to  be  grafted  is,  the 
easier  and  tlic  more  etfectual  is  the  operation,  because,  tlien,  one  scion 
put  on  just  above  the  root,  will  become  the  main  stem  of  the  tree,  and  all 
the  branches  it  puts  forth  will  be  of  the  right  sort.  When,  on  the  other 
hand,  a  tree  is  to  be  grafted  at  a  considerable  age,  (which  may  be  very 
successfully  done,)  you  have  to  pnt  on  twenty  or  thirty  grafts  on  the 
several  branches ;  and  afterwards  you  will  have  to  be  watching,  from 
time  to  time,  for  the  wilding  shoots  which  the  stock  will  be  putting  forth, 
and  pruning  them  off.  And  even  so,  one  whose  character  is  to  be  re- 
formed at  mature  age,  will  find  it  necessary  not  merely  to  implant  a  right 
principle  once  for  all,  but  also  to  bestow  a  distinct  attention  on  the  cor- 
lection  of  this,  that,  and  the  other  bad  habit. 

But  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  education  resembles  the  gi-afting  of  a 
tree  in  this  point,  also,  that  there  must  be  some  affinity  between  the  stock 
and  the  graft,  though  a  very  important  practical  difference  may  exist ; 
for  example,  between  a  worthless  crab  and  a  fine  apple.  Even  so,  the 
new  nature,  as  it  may  be  called,  superinduced  b}"^  education,  must  always 
retain  some  relation  to  the  original  one,  though  differing  in  most  impor- 
tant points.  You  can  not,  by  any  kind  of  artificial  training,  make  any 
tiling  of  any  one,  and  obliterate  all  trace  of  the  natural  character.  Those 
who  hold  that  this  is  possible,  and  attempt  to  eflect  it,  resemble  Virgil, 
who  (whether  in  ignorance  or,  as  some  think,  by  way  of  poetical  license) 
talks  of  grafting  an  oak  on  an  elm  :  glandesque  sues  frerjere  siih  ulmis. 
AnciiBisiiop  Whatelv.     Annotations  on  Bacon''s  Essays. 

What  a  man  has  learnt  is  of  importance,  but  what  he  is,  what  he  can 
do,  what  he  will  become,  are  more  significant  things.  Finally,  it  may  be 
remarked,  that  to  make  education  a  great  work,  we  must  have  the  edu- 
cators great;  that  book  learning  is  mainly  good,  as  it  gives  us  a  chance 
of  coming  into  the  company  of  greater  and  better  minds  than  the  average 
of  men  around  us;  and  that  individual  greatness  and  goodness  are  the 
things  to  be  aimed  at,  rather  than  the  successful  cultivation  of  those  tal- 
ents which  go  to  form  some  eminent  membership  of  society.  Each  man 
is  £t  drama  in  himself:  has  to  play  all  the  parts  in  it;  is  to  be  king  and 
rebel,  successful  and  vanquished,  free  and  slave ;  and  needs  a  bringing 
up  fit  for  the  universal  creature  that  he  is. 

A.  Helps.     Friends  in  Council. 

Education  is  the  placing  of  the  growing  human  creature  in  such  cir- 
cumstances of  direction  and  restraint,  as  shall  make  the  most  of  him,  or 
enable  him  to  make  the  most  of  himself  John  Gkote. 

A  liberal  education  is  an  education  in  which  the  individual  is  cultiva- 
ted, not  as  an  instrument  towards  some  ulterior  end,  but  as  an  end  unto 
himself  alone ;  in  other  words,  an  education  in  which  his  absolute  per- 
fection as  a  man,  and  not  merely  his  relative  dexterity  as  a  professional 
man,  is  the  scope  immediately  in  view.  Snt  William  Hamilton. 


WHAT  IS  EDUCATION  1  1 9 

Education  does  not  commence  with  the  alphabet;  it  begins  with  a 
mother's  look,  with  a  father's  nod  of  approbation,  or  sign  of  reproof;  with 
a  sister's  gentle  pressure  of  the  hand ;  a  brother's  jioble  act  of  forbear- 
ance ;  with  handful  of  flowers  in  green  dells,  or  hills,  and  daisy  meadows  ; 
■with  birdsnest  admired,  but  not  touched  ;  with  creeping  ants  and  almost 
imperceptible  emmets;  with  humming  bees,  and  glass  beehives;  with 
pleasant  walks  in  shady  lands,  and  with  thoughts  devoted,  in  sweet  and 
kindly  tones  and  words,  to  nature,  to  beauty,  to  acts  of  benevolence,  to 
deeds  of  virtue,  and  to  the  source  of  all  good — to  God  himself 

Dk.  Ramsdex. 

He  [man]  would  look  round  upon  the  woi'ld  without,  and  the  thought 
would  arise  in  his  mind — "  W/te7-e  am  I  ?"  He  would  contemplate  liim- 
self,  his  form  so  curious,  his  feelings  so  strange  and  various ;  he  would 
ask — "  What  Sim  I?"  Then  reflection  would  begin  to  stir  within  him, 
and  reviewing  the  world  without  and  within,  and  pondering  upon  the 
mystery  of  existence,  he  would  exclaim — "  Why  am  I  ?"  And  the  re- 
plies to  these  three  questions  compose  the  entire  circle  of  human  knowl 
edge,  developed  in  its  natural  order. 

W.  Cox.      The  Advocate,  his  Training. 

I  believe,  that  what  it  is  most  honorable  to  know,  it  is  also  most  profit- 
able to  learn  ;  and  that  the  science  which  it  is  the  highest  power  to  pos- 
sess, it  is  also  the  best  exercise  to  accjuire. 

And  if  this  be  so,  the  question  as  to  what  should  be  the  material  of 
education,  becomes  singularly  simplified.  It  might  be  matter  of  dispute 
what  processes  have  the  greatest  effect  in  developing  the  intellect ;  but  it 
can  hardl^v  be  disputed  what  facts  it  is  most  advisable  that  a  man  enter- 
ing into  life  should  accurately  know. 

I  believe,  in  brief,  that  he  ought  to  know  three  things : 

First.     Where  he  is. 

Secondly.     Where  he  is  going. 

Thirdly.     What  he  had  best  do  under  those  circumstances. 

First.  Where  he  is. — That  is  to  say.  what  sort  of  a  world  he  lias  got 
into  ;  how  large  it  is  ;  Mhat  kind  of  creatures  live  in  it,  and  how  ;  what 
it  is  m:ide  of,  and  what  may  be  made  of  it. 

Secondlj^  Where  he  is  going. — That  is  to  saj^,  what  chances  or  re- 
ports there  are  of  any  other  world  besides  this;  what  seems  to  be  the 
nature  of  that  other  world ;  and  whether,  for  information  respecting  it, 
he  had  better  consult  the  Bible,  Koran,  or  Council  of  Trent. 

Thirdly.  What  he  liad  best  do  under  those  circumstances. — That  is 
to  say,  what  kind  of  faculties  he  possesses ;  what  are  the  present  state 
and  wants  of  mankind  ;  what  is  his  place  in  society  ;  and  what  are  the 
readiest  means  in  his  power  of  attaining  happiness  and  diffusing  it.  The 
man  who  knows  these  things,  and  who  has  had  his  will  so  subdued  in 
the  learning  them,  that  he  is  ready  to  do  what  he  knows  he  ought,  I 
should  call  educated ;  and  the  man  who  knows  them  not,  uneducated, 
though  he  could  talk  all  the  tongues  of  Babel.  Ruskin. 


20  APHORISMS  ON  EDUCATION. 

Education  docs  not  mean  merely  reading  and  writing,  nor  any  degree, 
however  considerable,  of  mere  intellectual  instruction.  It  is,  in  its  larg- 
est sense,  a  process  which  extends  from  the  commencement  to  the  ter- 
mination of  existence.  A  child  comes  into  the  world,  and  at  once  his 
education  begins.  Often  at  his  birth  the  seeds  of  disease  or  deformity 
are  sown  in  his  constitution — and  while  he  hangs  at  his  mother's  breast, 
he  is  imbibing  impressions  which  will  remain  with  him  through  life. 
During  the  first  period  of  infancy,  the  physical  frame  expands  and 
strengthens  ;  but  its  delicate  structure  is  influenced  for  good  or  evil  by 
all  surrounding  circumstances — cleanliness,  light,  air,  food,  warmth. 
By  and  by,  the  young  being  within  shows  itself  more.  The  senses  be- 
come quicker.  The  desires  and  affections  assume  a  more  definite  shape. 
Every  object  which  gives  a  sensation  ;  every  desire  gratified  or  denied ; 
ever  J'' act,  word,  or  look  of  affection  or  of  unkindness,  has  its  elFect, 
sometimes  slight  and  imperceptible,  sometimes  obvious  and  permanent, 
in  building  up  the  human  being  ;  or,  rather,  in  determining  the  direction 
in  which  it  will  shoot  up  and  unfold  itself.  Through  the  diflerent  states 
of  the  infant,  the  child,  the  boy,  the  youth,  the  man,  the  development  of 
his  physical,  intellectual,  and  moral  nature  goes  on,  the  various  circum- 
stances of  his  condition  incessantly  acting  upon  him — the  healthfulness 
or  unhealthfulness  of  the  air  he  breathes ;  the  kind,  and  the  sufficiency 
of  his  food  and  clothing;  the  degree  in  which  his  physical  powers  are 
exerted ;  the  freedom  with  which  his  senses  are  allowed  or  encouraged 
to  exercise  themselves  upon  external  objects ;  the  extent  to  which  his 
faculties  of  remembering,  comparing,  reasoning,  are  tasked ;  the  sounds 
and  sights  of  home  ;  the  moral  example  of  parents ;  the  discipline  of 
school ;  the  nature  and  degree  of  his  studies,  rewards  and  punishments  ; 
the  personal  qualities  of  his  companions ;  the  opinions  and  practices  of 
the  society,  juvenile  and  advanced,  in  which  he  moves;  and  the  charac- 
ter of  the  public  institutions  under  which  he  lives.  The  successive  oper- 
ation of  all  these  circumstances  upon  a  human  being  from  earliest 
childhood,  constitutes  his  education; — an  education  which  docs  not  ter- 
minate with  the  arrival  of  manhood,  but  continues  through  life, — which 
is  itself,  upon  the  concurrent  testimony  of  revelation  and  reason,  a  state 
of  probation  or  education  for  a  subsequent  and  more  glorious  existence. 

John  Lalok.     Prize  Easay. 

The  appropriate  and  attainable  ends  of  a  good  education  arc  the  posses- 
sion of  gentle  and  kindly  sympathies;  the  sense  of  self-respect  and  of  the 
respect  of  fellow-men  ;  the  free  exercises  of  the  intellectual  faculties;  the 
gratification  of  a  curiosity  that  "  grows  by  what  it  feeds  on,"  and  yet 
finds  food  forever ;  the  power  of  regulating  the  habits  and  the  business 
of  life,  so  as  to  extract  the  greatest  possible  portion  of  comfort  out  of 
small  means ;  the  refining  and  tranquilizing  enjo)-ment  of  the  beautiful 
in  nature  and  art,  and  the  kindred  perception  of  the  beauty  and  nobility 
of  virtue  ;  the  strengthening  consciousness  of  duty  fulfilled,  and,  to 
crown  all,  "  the  peace  which  passeth  all  understanding." 

Sarah  Austiv, 


PART  II. 

TREATISES  AND  THOUGHTS  ON  EDUCATION. 


BIOGRAPHY  OF  ROGER  ASCHAM. 


We  shall  commence  in  our  next  number  tlie  publicarion  of 
Roger  Ascbam's  great  work — "  The  Schoolmaster ;"  one  of  the  earli- 
est and  most  valuable  contributions  to  the  educational  literature  of  our 
hmguage.  As  an  appropriate  introduction,  we  give  a  sketch  of  the 
author's  life  drawn  mainly  from  Hartley  Coleridge's  "Northern  Wor- 
thies," and  the  "  Biographical  Dictionary^''  commenced  by  the  Society 
for  the  Diffusion  of  Useful  Knowledge. 

Roger  Asciiam  was  the  third  son  of  John  and  Margaret  Ascham, 
and  was  born  in  the  year  1515,  at  Kirby  Wiske,  near  Northallerton 
in  Yorkshire,  where  his  father  resided  as  steward  to  the  noble  family 
of  Scroope.  His  parents,  who  were  highly  esteemed  in  their  station, 
after  living  together  for  forty-seven  years,  both  died  on  the  same  day 
and  nearly  at  the  same  hour.  Their  son  Roger  displayed  fi-om  his 
childhood  a  taste  for  learning,  and  was  received  into  the  family  of  Sir 
Anthony  Wingfield,  who  caused  him  to  be  educated  with  his  own  sons, 
under  the  care  of  their  tutor,  Mr.  Robert  Bond  ;*  and  in  the 
year  1530,  placed  him  at  St.  John's  College,  Cambridge,  then 
the  most  Hourishingf  in  the  University.  Ascham  applied  himself 
particularly  to  the  study  of  Greek,  to  which  a  great  impulse  had  re- 
cently been  given  by  the  dispersion  of  the  learned  Greeks  throughout 
Europe,  in  consequence  of  the  taking  of  Constantinople.  He  made 
great  proficiency  in  Greek  as  well  as  Latin,  and  he  read  Greek  lec- 
tures, while  yet  a  youth,  to  students  still  younger  than  himself  He 
took  the  degree  of  A.  F>.  in  February,  1534,  and  on  the  23d  of  the 
next  month  was  elected;];  fellow  of  his  college,  through  the  influence  of 

*  "  To  conclude,  let  lliis,  amongst  other  motives,  make  schoolmasters  careful  \x\  their  jilace, 
that  the  eminences  of  their  scholars  have  commended  their  schoolmasters  to  posterity,  \\  lich 
otherwise  in  obscurity  had  been  altogether  forgotten.  Who  had  ever  heard  of  R.  Boml  in 
I^aMcashire,  but  for  the  breeding  of  learned  Roijer  Ascham,  his  scholar?"  Fuller's  llu'y 
and  Profane  Stales — The  Good  Schoohnaster. 

1  Dr.  Grant  in  his  "  Oralio  dcvila  et  obilu  Rogeri  Ascham"  thus  compliments  Sir  John's 
College  : — '-Yea,  surely,  in  that  one  college,  which  at  that  season,  for  number  of  most  Itarntd 
doctors,  for  multitude  of  erudite  philosophers,  for  abundance  of  elegant  orators,  all  in  tlitir 
kind  superlative,  might  rival  or  outvie  all  mansions  of  literature  on  earth,  were  exceedingly 
many  men,  most  excellent  in  all  politer  letters,  and  in  knowledge  of  languages." 

t "  Dr.  Nicholas  Medcalf  " — writes  Ascham  later  in  life,  "  was  a  man  meanly  learned  him- 
self, but  not  meanly  affectioned  to  set  forth  learning  in  others.  lie  was  partial  to  none,  hut 
indifferent  to  all ;  a  master  of  the  whole,  a  father  to  every  one  in  that  college.  There  was 
none  so  poor,  if  he  had  either  will  to  goodness,  or  wit  to  learning,  that  could  lack  being  ihtre, 


24  ROGER  ASCIIAM. 

the  master.  Dr.  Medcalf,  himself  a  northern  man,  who  privately  exer- 
ted himself  in  Ascham's  favor,  notwithstanding  he  had  exhibited  a 
leaning  toward  the  new  doctrines  of  protestantism,  and  had  even  been 
exposed  to  public  censure  for  speaking  against  the  pope.  He  took  the 
degree  of  A.  M.  in  1536,  at  the  age  of  twenty-one,  and  began  to  take 
pupils,  in  whose  instiiiction  he  was  very  successful.  He  also  read 
Greek  publicly  in  the  university,  and  privately  in  his  own  college. 

In  1544,  on  the  resignation  of  Sir  John  Cheke,  he  was  chosen 
University  Orator,*  an  office  which  he  filled  with  general  approbation. 

In  the  following  year,  (1545,)  appeared  his  "Toxophilus,  or,  the 
Schole  of  Shootinge,"  a  treatise  on  archery,  which  he  composed  with 
a  double  view  ;  in  the  first  place,  to  exhibit  a  specimen  of  English 
prose  composition  in  a  purer  taste  than  then  prevailed,  and  in  the 
second,  to  attract  the  attention  of  King  Henry  VHT.,  then  on  the 
point  of  setting  out  on  his  Boulogne  expedition,  and  to  obtain  the 
means  of  visiting  Italy,  which  he  much  desired.  He  succeeded  per- 
fectly in  the  first  object,  and  partially  in  the  second  ;  for  the  king  was 
so  well  pleased,  that  he  settled  on  the  author  a  pension  of  10/.  per 
annum — at  that  time  a  considerable  sum,  especially  to  a  poor  scholar. 
Ascham  about  this  time  ae(pru'ed  other  great  patrons.  Ue  enjoyed  a 
pension  from  Archbishop  Lee,  acted  for  some  time  as  tutor  to  Henry 
and  Charles  Brandon,  the  two  sons  of  the  Duchess  of  Suflfolk,  and 
attracted  the  friendly  regaids  of  the  Chancellor  Wriothesly,  and  other 
eminent  men. 

In  1548,  on  occasion  of  the  death  of  AVilliam  Grindal,  Avho  had 
been  his  pupil  at  Cambridge,  Ascham  was  appointed  instructor  in  the 
learned  languages  to  the  Lady  Elizabeth,  afterwards  Queen,  a  situation 
which  he  filled  for  some  time  with  great  credit,  to  himself  and  satis- 
faction to  his  pupil. 

Of  Ascham's  own  attachments,  as  well  as  methods  of  study  and 
teaching,  we  have  the  best  record  in  his  letters  and  the  Schoolmaster. 
He  held  fast  the  truth,  that  it  is  only  by  its  own  free  agency  that  the 
intellect  can  either  be  enriched  or  invigorated ; — that  true  knowledge 
is  an  act,  a  continuous  immanent  act,  and  at  the  same  time  an  opera- 
lion  of  the  reflective  faculty  on  its  own   oVjjects.     How  he  applied 

or  should  depart  thence  for  any  need.  *  *  This  good  man's  goodness  shall  never  be  out 
of  my  remembrance  all  the  days  of  my  life.  For  ne.xt  to  God's  Providence,  surely  that  day 
was,  by  that  !;ood  father's  mean.s,  rfi>s  tjalalis  iinlo  me  for  the  whole  foundation  of  Ihe  poor 
learning  I  have,  and  of  all  furthermore  lliat  hillif-rto  elsewhere  1  have  obtained."  The  hu- 
man heart  is  capable  of  no  more  generous  feeling  than  the  genuine  gratitude  of  a  scholar  to 
liis  instructor.  It  is  twice  blessed  ;  honorable  alike  to  the  youth  and  to  the  elder  ;  and  nev- 
er can  e.xisl  when  it  ia  not  ju^t. 

*  Public  Orator  is  Spokesman  on  public  occasions,  and  corresponding  Secretary  of  the 
University.    It  is  an  office  of  great  honor  and  high  precedency. 


ROGER  ASCHAM.  25 

tliis  idea  to  the  purposes  of  education,  bis  "  Schoolmaster,"  written 
in  the  maturity  of  his  powers,  and  out  of  the  fullness  of  his  experi- 
ence, sufficiently  shows.  But  the  idea,  though  undeveloped,  wrought 
in  him  from  his  earliest  jouth  ;  his  favorite  maxim  was  Docendo  disces. 
The  aflFectiouate  wish  and  strenuous  effort  to  impart  knowledge  is  the 
best  possible  condition  for  receiving  it.  The  necessity  of  being  intel- 
ligible to  others  brings  with  it  an  obligation  to  understand  ourselves ; 
to  find  words  apt  to  our  ideas,  and  ideas  commensurate  to  our  words ; 
to  seek  out  just  analogies  and  happy  illustrations.  But,  above  all,  by 
teaching,  or  more  properly  by  reciprocal  intercommunication  of  in- 
struction, we  gain  a  practical  acquaintance  with  the  universal  laws  of 
thought,  and  with  the  process  of  perception,  abstracted  from  the  ac- 
tions of  the  individual  constitution  :  for  it  is  only  by  a  sympathetic 
intercourse  with  other  minds  that  we  gain  any  true  knowledge  of  our 
own.  Of  course  we  speak  of  free  and  fi'iendly  teaching,  not  of  des- 
potic dictation,  than  which  there  is  no  habit  more  likely  to  pei'petu- 
ate  presumptuous  ignorance. 

The  study  of  the  Greek  language  was  at  that  time  new  in  western 
Europe,  and  in  England  a  mere  novelty.  To  Ascham  it  was  as  "  the 
trouble  of  a  new  delight ;"  every  lesson  which  he  gained  he  was 
eager  to  impart;  he  taught  Greek,  he  wrote  Greek,  he  talked  Greek, 
no  wonder  if  he  dreamed  in  Greek.  There  might  be  a  little  vanity 
in  this  :  but  whatever  vanity  he  possessed,  (and  he  certainly  loved  to 
talk  of  himself,)  was  so  tempered  by  modesty,  and  blended  with  such 
candor,  such  glad  acknowledgment  of  other's  merits,  that  the  stern- 
est judgments  could  hardly  call  it  a  foible.  By  this  industrious  com- 
munication and  daily  practice,  he  acquired,  at  a  very  early  period, 
such  a  command  of  the  Greek  vocabulary,  and  so  vernacular  a  turn 
of  phrase,  that  his  senior,  Robert  Pember,  to  whom  he  had  addressed 
an  epistle  in  that  tongue,  assures  him  that  his  letter  might  have  been 
written  at  Athens.  But  the  critical  nicety  of  modern  scholarship 
was  then  unknown,  and  it  was  very  unlikely  that  Pember  himself  felt 
or  understood  that  perfect  atticism  upon  which  he  compliments  his 
young  friend.  Pember's  epistle  of  course  is  in  Latin,  interspersed 
with  Greek,  and  curious  enough  to  be  worthy  of  translation.  It  is 
to  this  effect : — "  Dearly  beloved  Roger, — I  render  thee  thanks  for 
thy  Greek  epistle,  which  might  seem  to  have  been  indited  at  ancient 
Athens,  so  exactly  hast  thou  attained  the  propriety  of  Greek  phrase : 
of  exquisite  penmanship  it  is,  as  are  all  thine.  Use  diligence,  that 
thou  maifst  he 'perfect,  not  according  to  the  stoical,  but  to  lyrical  per- 
fection, that  thou  maysH  touch  the  harj)  aright.  Continue  to  read 
Greek  with  the  boys,  for   thou  wilt  profit  more  by  one  little  fable  of 


26  ROGER  ASCUAM. 

JEsop,  read  and  explained  by  thyself,  than  if  thou  shouldst  hear  the 
whole  Iliad  expounded  in  Latin  by  the  learnedest  man  now  livinfr. 
Peruse  Diny,  in  which  author  is  the  greatest  knowledge  of  things, 
along  with  the  most  florid  opulence  of  Latin  speech."* 

In  this  letter  we  may  notice,  first,  the  testimonial  to  the  beauty  of 
Ascham's  penmanship,!  which  proved  a  principal  means  of  his  advance- 
ment :  secondly,  a  proof  that  he  was  actually  engaged  in  the  tuition 
of  hoys :  thirdly,  that  in  his  plans,  both  for  his  own  improvement, 
and  for  that  of  his  pupils,  he  diverged  from  the  common  routine  of 
lectures :  fourthly,  that  his  friend,  well  discerning  the  bent  and  pur- 
pose of  his  genius,  urged  him  to  proceed  with  those  humane  and  ele- 
gant studies,  on  which  some  austercr  judgments  looked  with  an  evil 
eye.  From  one  passage  of  this  epistle,  a  biographer  has  observed 
that  "  Mr.  Robert  Pember  advised  him  to  learn  instrumental  music, 
which  would  prove  a  very  agreeable  entertainment  to  him  after  his 
severer  studies,  and  was  easy  to  be  attained  by  him,  as  he  was  already 
a  great  master  of  vocal  music."  It  is  certainly  very  possible,  that 
Pember  may  have  given  him  such  advice,  but  it  is  nevertheless  cer- 
tain, that  he  does  not  give  it  in  the  letter  in  question.  There  is  no 
allusion  at  recreation  at  all.  The  whole  drift  of  the  writer  is  an  ex- 
hortation to  perseverance  in  a  course  of  study  already  commenced. J 

*  I  wish  young  scholars  paid  attention  to  this  recommendation.  Pliny  is  never  read  at 
school,  and  very  seldom  at  collese  ;  yet  I  have  the  high  authority  of  Southey  for  saying,  that 
he  is  the  most  instructive  of  all  the  Roman  authors.  The  extent  of  his  knowledge  is  almost 
marvelous  ;  his  veracity,  where  he  speaks  from  personal  observation,  is  daily  approved  by 
modern  experiment  and  discovery  ;  and  even  his  credulity  adds  to  his  value,  by  disclosing 
more  fully  the  actual  state  of  physical  science  in  his  age  and  country.  It  is  surely  quite  as 
interesting  to  know  what  properties  the  passions  or  the  imaginations  of  men  liave  ascribed 
to  a  plant  or  animal,  as  to  count  its  stamina  and  petals,  or  ascertain  the  number  of  its  verte- 
brse.  Both  are  very  useful.  But  the  highest  recommtudation  of  I'liny  is  his  moral  wisdom, 
his  almost  Christian  piety,  his  intelligent  humanity.  Of  all  the  Romans  he  was  the  least  of  a 
Roman,  and  approximated  nearest  to  the  pure  idea  of  man. 

TThe  importance  of  good  penmanship  is  still  appreciated  by  the  English  government.  In 
]s54.  Viscount  Palmerston.  then  Hume  Secretary,  caused  a  letter  to  be  addressed  to  the  Sec- 
retary of  the  Privy  Council  on  Education,  in  which  he  submits  "  for  their  Lordships  consid- 
eration that  one  great  fault  in  the  system  of  instruction  in  the  schools  of  the  country  lies  in 
the  want  of  proper  teaching  in  the  art  of  writing  The  great  bulk  of  (he  middle  and  lower 
orders  write  hands  too  small  and  indistinct,  and  do  not  form  their  letters  :  or  they  sometimes 
form  them  by  alternate  broad  and  fine  strokes,  wliich  makes  the  words  difficult  to  read.  The 
hand  writing  which  was  generally  practised  in  the  early  part  and  middle  of  the  last  century 
was  far  better  than  that  now  in  common  use  ;  and  Lord  Palmerston  would  suggest  that  it 
would  be  very  desirable  that  tlie  attention  of  schoolmasters  should  be  directed  to  this  subject, 
and  that  their  pupils  should  be  taught  rather  to  imitate  broad  prinlmg  than  fine  copperplate 
engraving." 

JThe  words  of  the  original  are — "Da  operam,  ut  sisperfectus,  non  Sloicus,  dWa  AvpiAroj, 
ut  belle  pulses  lyram."  No  doubt  in  the  same  sense  that  ?ocrates  w.-is  commanded  by  the 
Oracle  to  make  music  ;  or,  to  appeal  to  a  far  higher  authority,  as  David  "shewed  a  dark 
speech  on  the  harp,"  1.  e.  opened  and  exalted  the  understanding  by  the  aid  of  tlie  imagina- 
lion  S.  T.  Coleridge  remarks  on  this  note  of  his  son  Hartley,— neither  has  Hartley  caught 
the  true  meaning  of  the  words  aWa  Avpixd;,  as  opposed  to  Sloicus.  The  Stoicns— the 
Bovereignty  of  the  highest  by  the  sacrifice  of  tlie  inferior;  I.yricus,  the  whole  as  a  beautiful 
one,  by  harmonious  subordination. 


ROGER  ASCHAM.  27 

So  far  was  Ascliam  from  devoting  himself  to  music  with  that  in- 
tensity which  Pember  has  been  supposed  to  recommend,  that  he  ap- 
pears to  have  had  no  manner  of  taste,  but  rather  a  platonic  antipa- 
thy for  it,  even  as  an  amusement.  Nor  would  he  be  well  pleased  with 
the  present  course  of  education  in  his  University,  if  we  judge  by  the 
sentiments  which  he  expresses  in  his  Schoolmaster,  and  Toxophilus. 

"  Some  wits,  moderate  enough  by  nature,  be  many  times  marred 
by  over  much  study  and  use  of  some  sciences,  namely,  music,  arith- 
metic, and  geometry.  These  sciences,  as  they  sharpen  men's  wits 
over  much,  so  they  charge  men's  manners  over  sore,  if  they  be  not 
moderately  mingled,  and  wisely  applied  to  some  good  use  of  hfe. 
Mark  all  mathematical  heads,  which  be  wholly  and  only  bent  to  those 
sciences,  how  solitary  they  be  themselves,  how  unapt  to  serve  in  the 
world.  This  is  not  only  known  by  common  experience,  but  uttered 
long  before  by  wise  men's  judgment  and  sentence.  Galen  saith, 
much  music  marreth  men's  manners,  and  Plato  hath  a  notable  place 
of  the  same  thing,  and  excellently  translated  by  Tully  himself.  Of 
this  matter  I  wrote  once  more  at  large,  twenty  years  ago,  in  my  book 
of  shooting."  The  passage  of  the  Toxophilus  referred  to,  is  as  fol- 
lows : — "  Whatsoever  ye  judge,  this  I  am  sure,  that  lutes,  harps,  bar- 
bitons,  sambukes,  and  other  instruments,  every  one  which  standeth 
by  quick  and  fine  fingering,  be  condemned  of  Aristotle,  as  not  to  be 
brought  in  and  used  among  them,  which  study  for  learning  and  vir- 
tue. Much  music  marreth  men's  manners,  saith  Galen.  Although 
some  men  will  say  that  it  doth  not  so,  but  rather  recreateth  and  raa- 
keth  quick  a  man's  mind,  yet  raethiiiks,  by  reason  it  doth,  as  honey 
doth  to  a  man's  stomach,  which  at  the  first  receiveth  it  well ;  but  af- 
terwards it  maketh  it  unfit  to  abide  any  strong  nourishing  meat,  or 
else  any  wholesome  sharp  and  quick  drink;  and,  even  so  in  a  man- 
ner, these  instruments  make  a  man's  wit  so  soft  and  smooth,  so  ten- 
der and  queasy,  that  they  be  less  able  to  brook  strong  and  rough 
study.  Wits  be  not  sharpened,  but  rather  made  blunt,  with  such 
soft  sweetness,  even  as  good  edges  be  blunted,  which  men  whet  upon 
soft  chalk-stones." 

These  opinions  require  considerable  limitation.  Music  is  so  high  a 
delight  to  such  as  are  really  ca])able  of  enjoying  it,  that  there  is  some 
danger  of  its  encroaching  too  much  upon  the  student's  time,  and  it  is 
frequently  a  passport  to  very  undesirable  company  ;  but  if  these  evils 
be  avoided,  its  effects  on  the  mind  are  extremely  salutary  and  refresh- 
ing. Nothing  calms  the  spirit  more  sweetly  than  sad  music ;  nothing 
quickens  cogitation  like  a  lively  air.  But  the  truth  was,  that  honest 
Roger  had  no  ear,  and  like  a  true  Englishman  of  an  age  when  Kings 


28 


ROGER  ASCIIAM. 


were  wrestlers,  and  queens  not  only  presided  at  tournaments,  but 
"  rained  influence"  upon  bear  baitings,  delighted  rather  in  muscular 
exertion  than  in  fine  fingering.  That  the  practice  of  music  no  way 
impaiis  the  faculty  of  severe  thought,  is  sufficiently  evinced  by  the  fact 
that  Milton  was  a  skillful  musician,*  and  that  most  of  the  German 
philosophers  of  the  present  day,  who  in  mental  industry  excel  the 
whole  world,  j)lay  on  some  instrument.  Mathematical  pursuits  are 
so  far  from  disqualifying  men  for  business,  that  of  all  others  they  are 
most  necessary  to  such  as  are  intended  for  public  life.  Be  it  as  it  may, 
Avith  music  and  mathematics,  it  is  certain  that  Ascham  did  teach  Greek 
and  Latin  with  eminent  success. 

It  must  be  an  affair  of  delicate  management  to  teach  Greek  to  a 
princess  ;  but  Ascham  had  a  love  and  a  genius  for  teaching,  and  Eliza- 
beth possessed  in  an  extraordinary  degree  the  facility  of  her  sex  in 
learning  languages.  She  had  then  little  or  no  expectation  of  reigning. 
Her  situation  was  one  of  peculiar  difficulty :  she  needed  a  spirit  at 
once  firm  and  yielding ;  and  displayed  in  earliest  youth  a  circum- 
spection and  self-control  in  Avhicli  her  latter  years  were  deficient. 
Ascham  found  her  a  most  agreeable  pupil ;  and  the  diligence,  docility, 
modest  affection,  and  self-respective  deference  of  the  royal  maiden,  en- 
deared an  office  which  the  shy  scholar  had  not  undertaken  without 
fears  and  misgivings.  Ilis  epistles  to  his  friends  are  full  of  the  prin- 
cess' commendations  and  his  own  satisfaction  ;  and  in  his  later  works 
he  refers  to  this  part  of  his  life  with  honest  pride.  In  this  happy 
strain  he  writes  to  John  .Stui-mius,  of  Strasburg: — "If  you  wish  to 
know  how  I  am  thriving  at  Court,  you  may  assure  yourself  that  I  had 
never  more  blessed  leisure  in  my  college  than  now  in  the  palace.  The 
Lady  Elizabeth  and  I  are  studying  together,  in  the  original  Greek, 
the  crown  orations  of  Demosthenes  and  ^schines.  She  reads  her 
lessons  to  me,  and  at  one  glance  so  completely  comprehends,  not  only 
the  idiom  of  the  language  and  the  sense  of  the  orator,  but  the  exact 
bearings  of  the  cause,  and  the  public  acts,  manners,  and  usages  of 
the  Athenian  people,  that  you  would  marvel  to  behold  her."  In  like 
temper  he  told  Aylmer,  afterwaud  Bishop  of  London,  that  he  learned 
more  of  the  Lady  Elizabeth  than  she  did  of  him.  "  I  teach  her  words," 
said  he,  "and  she  teaches  me  things.  I  teach  her  the  tongues  to 
speak,  and  her  modest  and  maidenly  looks  teach  me  works  to  do ;  for 
I  think  she  is  the  best  disposed  of  any  in  Europe."  In  several  of  his 
Latin  epistles,  and  also  in  his  ''  Schoolmaster,"  he  explains  and  recom- 
mends his  mode  of  instructing  the  princess  with  evident  exultation  at 

*  Much  music  is  Galen's  phrase,  and  see  the  last  lines  of  Milton's  sonnet — 
He  who  of  these  delights  can  judge,  and  spare 
To  interpose  ihem  oft,  is  not  unwise. 


ROGER  ASCHAM.  29 

his  success.  It  was  the  same  method  of  double  translation  juirsued 
with  such  distinguished  results  in  the  tuition  of  the  young  sovereign, 
by  Sir  John  Cheke,  from  whom  Ascham  adopted  it :  and,  indeed,  like 
many  of  the  best  discoveries,  it  seems  so  simple  that  we  wonder  how 
it  ever  could  be  missed,  and  so  excellent,  that  we  know  not  why  it  is 
so  little  practiced.  It  had,  indeed,  been  suggested  by  the  younger 
Pliny,  in  an  epistle  to  Fuscus,  and  by  Cicero,  in  his  Dialogue  de  Ora- 
tore.  "Pliny,"  saith  Roger,  "expresses  many  good  ways  for  order  in 
study,  but  beginneth  with  translation,  and  preferreth  it  to  all  the  rest. 
But  a  better  and  nearer  examjile  herein  may  be  our  noble  Queen 
Elizabeth,  who  never  yet  took  Greek  nor  Latin  grammar  in  her  hand 
after  the  first  declining  of  a  noun  and  a  verb ;  but  only  by  this  double 
translating  of  Demosthenes  and  Isocrates  daily  without  missing,  every 
forenoon,  and  likewise  some  part  of  Tully  every  afternoon,  for  the 
space  of  a  year  or  two,  hath  attained  to  such  perfect  understanding  in 
both  the  tongues,  and  to  such  a  i-eady  utterance  in  the  Latin,  and  that 
with  such  a  judgment,  as  they  be  few  in  number  in  both  Universities 
or  elsewhere  in  England,  that  be  in  both  tongues  comparable  to  her 
Majesty."  And  so  in  an  epistle  to  Sturmius : — "  It  is  almost  incredi- 
ble to  how  excellent  an  understanding  both  of  Greek  and  Latin  I  my- 
self conducted  our  sacred  Lady  Elizabeth  by  this  same  double  transla- 
tion, constantly  and  in  brief  time  delivered  in  writing."  In  the 
same  letter  he  insists  upon  the  pupil  making  the  translations  with  his 
or  her  own  hand,  proprio,  non  alieno  stylo,  whence  it  may  be  conclu- 
ded that  Ehzabeth  was  her^wn  amanuensis  on  these  occasions. 

We  may  w'ell  allow  a  teacher  to  be  a  little  rapturous  about  the  pro- 
ficiency of  a  lady,  a  queen,  and  his  own  pupil ;  but  after  all  due  abate- 
ments, the  testimony  remains  unshaken  both  to  the  talent  of  the 
learner,  and  the  efficiency  of  the  system  of  instruction. 

For  two  years  the  most  perfect  harmony  subsisted  between  Eliza- 
beth and  her  preceptor.  The  intei'vals  of  study  were  occasionally  re- 
lieved with  chess,  at  which  Ascham  is  said  to  have  been  an  adopt.  It 
is  to  be  hoped  that  he  had  too  much  prudence  and  gallantry  to  beat 
the  Lady  oftener  than  was  necessary_to  convince  her  that  he  always 
played  his  best.  True,  the  royal  virgin  was  not  then  Queen,  or  even 
presumptive  heir;  but  no  wise  man  would  take  the  conceit  out  of  a 
chess-])layer,  that  stood  witliin  the  hundredth  degree  of  relationship  to 
the  throne.  Elizabeth  was  not  the  only  distinguished  female  whose 
classical  studies  were  assisted  by  our  author ;  he  taught  Latin  to  Anne, 
Countess  of  Pembroke,  to  whom  he  addressed  two  letters  in  that 
language,  still  extant. 

The  court  of  the  young  Edward  was  filled  with  lovers  of  learning, 


30  ROGER  ASCHAM. 

in  whoso  society  and  patronage  Ascliam  enjoyed  himself  fully,  as  Sir 
John  Cheke  his  old  friend,  Lord  Paget,  Sir  William  Cecil,  and  the 
Chancellor  Wriothesly,  lie  had  a  share  in  the  education  of  the  two 
Brandons,  and  he  partook  the  favor  of  the  youthful  King,  who  honoi'- 
ing  knowledge,  and  all  its  professors,' must  have  especially  esteemed  it 
in  the  instructor  of  his  Lady  Temper^  as  the  amiable  boy  used  to  call 
his  favorite  sister.  It  was  at  tliis  period  that  he  became  acquainted 
with  the  lovely  Jane  Grey,  a  creature  whose  memory  should  singly 
put  to  rout  the  vulgar  prejudice  against  female  erudition. 

At  the  end  of  two  years,  however,  upon  a  disgust  he  felt 
at  the  conduct  of  some  of  the  princes's  attendants,  he  suddenly 
threw  up  his  appointment,  and  retired  to  his  college.  He  after- 
ward had  reason  to  regret  the  precipitancy  of  his  conduct,  which 
was,  perhaps,  never  entirely  forgotten,  though  he  succeeded  in  a  great 
measure  in  regaining  the  favor  of  Elizabeth. 

Returning  to  his  duties,  as  public  orator  at  Cambridge,  he  still 
retained  his  pension,  and  the  confidence  of  the  worthiest  persons 
about  court.  His  interest  must  have  been  very  considerable,  if,  as 
Lloyd  quaintly  expresses  it,  "  he  hindered  those  who  had  dined  on  the 
churcli  from  snj-jp'mg  on  the  universities ;"  He  was  certainly  esteemed 
by  Elizabeth,  and  of  her  he  spoke  with  enthusiasm  to  his  latest  day, 
not  without  a  pleasing  consciousness  of  his  own  services  in  making 
her  what  she  was.  Thus,  in  the  "Schoolmaster,"  his  latest  work,  lie 
makes  her  perfections  a  reproach  to  all  her  male  subjects.  "  It  is 
your  shame,  (I  speak  to  you  all,  you  yonfig  gentlemen  of  England,) 
that  one  maid  should  go  beyond  ye  all  in  excellency  of  learning,  and 
knowledge  of  divers  tongues.  Point  out  six  of  the  best  given  gen- 
tlemen of  this  court,  and  all  they  together  show  not  so  much  good 
will,  bestow  not  so  many  hours  daily,  ordeily,  and  constantly,  for  the 
increase  of  learning  and  knowledge,  as  doth  the  queen's  Majesty  her- 
self. Yes,  I  believe  that  besides  her  perfect  readiness  in  Latin,  Italian, 
French,  and  Spanish,  she  readeth  now  at  Windsor  more  Greek  every 
day  than  some  prebendary  of  this  church  doth  Latin  in  a  whole 
week.  Amongst  all  the  benefits  which  God  hath  blessed  me  withal, 
next  the  knowledge  of  Christ's  true  religion,  I  count  this  the  great- 
est,  that  it  pleased  God  to  call  me  to  be  one  poor  minister  in  setting 
forward  there  excellent  gifts  of  learning." 

In  excuse,  however,  of  "  the  six  best  given  gentlemen,"  it  should 
be  stated,  that  the  learning  of  languages  is  emphatically  a  female  tal- 
ent, bearing  a  much  larger  ratio  to  general  ability  in  woman  than  in 
man.  Yet  who  can  but  admire  the  indefatigable  intellect  of  the  re- 
nowned queen,  harassed   in   youth   with   peril    and  persecution,   and 


ROGER  ASCHAM.  31 

burdened  in  early  maturity  with  public  cares,  which  coukl  yet  attain 
a  proticiency  in  polite  learning,  such  as  few  professional  scholars  have 
excelled.  The  bare  titles  of  the  works  which  she  translated  evince 
the  variety  of  her  philological  attainments,  and  justify  the  praises  of 
her  eulogists.*  When  no  more  than  eleven  years  of  age  she  transla- 
ted out  of  French  verse  into  English  prose,  "The  Mirror,  or  Glass,  of 
the  Sinful  Soul,"  dedicated  to  Queen  Catherine  Parr,  1544.  At 
twelve,  she  rendered  out  of  English  into  Latin,  French,  and  Italian, 
"Prayers  or  Meditations,  by  which  the  soul  may  be  encouraged  to 
bear  with  patience  all  the  Miseries  of  Life,  to  despise  the  vain  hap- 
piness of  this  world,  and  assiduously  provide  for  eternal  fecility,  col- 
lected out  of  prime  writers  by  the  most  noble  and  religious  Queen 
Catherine  Par,  dedicated  by  the  Princess  Elizabeth  to  King  Henry 
VIIL,"  dated  at  Hatfield,  in  Hertfordshire,  December  30.  Much 
about  the  same  time  she  translated  a  treatise  originally  written  by 
Marguerite  of  Navarre,  in  the  French  language,  and  entitled  the 
"  Godly  Meditation  of  the  Liward  Love  of  the  Soul  toward  Christ 
the  Lord,"  printed  in  the  "  Monument  of  Matrons,  containing  seven 
several  Lamps  of  Virginity."  These  were  the  works  of  the  "  tender 
and  maidenly  years"  of  her  childhood.  At  a  riper  age  she  turned 
from  Greek  into  Latin,  portions  of  Xenophon,  Isocrates,  and  Euri- 
pides ;  from  Greek  to  English,  Boethius,  Sallust's  Jugurthine  war,  and 
part  of  Horace's  Art  of  Poetry.  Fi'om  Italian  she  translated  certain 
sermons  of  Bernardine  Ochine,  an  Italian  protestant  divine.  It  is 
hard  to  say  what  assistance  she  may  have  had  in  these  labors,  nor 
can  we  speak  of  their  merits  from  personal  inspection ;  but  if  she 
produced  any  considerable  part  of  them,  they  must  evince  extreme 
activity,  and  a  laudable  love  of  literary  employment.  What  teacher 
would  not  be  proud  of  such  a  scholar  ?  But  we  must  return  to  her 
preceptor. 

In  1550,  while  on  a  visit  to  his  friends  in  Yorkshire,  he  was  recall- 
ed to  court  by  a  letter,  informing  him  that  he  had  been  appointed  to 
accompany  Sir  Richard  Morysinef  onhis  embassy  to  the  court  of  the 

*  The  praises  of  Elizabeth  were  not  confined  to  her  own  subjects.  Scahger  declared  that 
she  knew  more  than  all  the  great  men  of  her  time.  Serraniis  honored  her  with  the  dedica- 
tion of  his  Pialo,  in  terms  flattering  enough,  but  only  a  learned  Queen  could  be  so  flattered. 
Dedicators  and  panegyrists  dabble  much  in  prophecy  ;  but  it  is  not  often  that  Ihey  prophecy 
truly.  Sen-anus,  however,  was  right  for  one,  when  he  foretold  the  future  fame  of  "  good 
Queen  Bess,"  and  "  Eliza's  Golden-days."  '•  Quemadmodum  Salomonis  vilAugusti  felix 
imperium,  notabile  fuit  ad  designandum  civilem  felicitatem  ;  ita  et  tuuni,  regina,  illustre,  sit 
futurum,  tuaque  insula  non  amplius  Albion  sed  Olbia  et  vere  fortunata  sit  porro  nuncupanda. 
Qiiidenim  f  In  regno  tuo  vera  ilia  regnant  philosophia  cujus  vix  ao  ne  vix  quidem  umbram 
vidit  Plato." 

t  Sir  Richard  Morysine,  [or  Morison,]— son  of  Thomas  Morysine,  of  Essex,  w^as  educated 
at  Eaton  and  Cambridge,— traveled  in  Italy,  and  studied  in  Padua,— made  prebendary  in  Salis- 


32  ROGER  ASCHAM. 

Emperor  Charles  V.  It  was  on  his  way  to  London  on  this  occasion, 
that  he  had  his  well-known  interview  with  Lady  Jane  Grey,  at  her 
father's  seat  at  Brodegate,  in  Leicestershire,  where  he  found  her,  a 
young  lady  of  fifteen,  reading  the  "Phredon"  of  Plato  in  the  original 
Greek,  while  the  members  of  her  family  were  hunting  in  the  park. 
Ascham's  beautiful  relation  of  the  scene  is  given  in  his  "Schoolmaster ." 
"  Before  I  went  in  Germany  I  came  to  Brodegate,  in  Leicester- 
shire, to  take  my  lease  of  that  noble  lad}',  Jane  Grey,  to  whom  I 
was  exceedingly  much  beholding.  Ilcr  parents,  the  Duke  and  Duch- 
es.s,  with  all  the  house,  old  gentlemen  and  gentlewomen,  were  hunting 
in  the  park.  I  found  her  in  the  chamber  alone,  reading  Phsedo  Pla- 
tonis  in  Greek,  and  that  with  as  much  delight  as  some  gentlemen 
would  read  a  merry  tale  of  Boecace.  After  salutation,  and  duty  done, 
with  some  other  talk,  I  a'^ked  her  why  she  should  lose  such  pastime 
in  the  park?  Smiling,  she  answered  me,  "I  wist  all  their  sport  in 
the  park  is  but  a  shadow  of  that  pleasure  I  find  in  Plato.  Alas,  o-ood 
folk,  they  never  felt  what  true  pleasure  meant."  "  And  how  came 
you,  madam,"  quoth  I,  "  to  this  knowledge  of  pleasure  ?  And  what 
did  chiefly  allure  you  unto  it,  seeing  not  many  women,  and  but  very 
few  men,  have  attained  thereunto  ?"  "  I  will  tell  you,"  quoth  she, 
"and  tell  you  a  truth  which  perchance  ye  may  marvel  at.  One  of 
the  greater  benetits  God  ever  gave  me,  is,  that  he  sent  me  so  sharp 
and  severe  parents,  and  so  gentle  a  schoolmaster.*  For  when  I  am 
in  presence  either  of  father  or  mother,  whether  I  speak,  keep  silence, 
sit,  stand,  or  go,  eat.  di'ink,  be  mci'ry  or  sad,  be  sewing,  playing,  dan- 
cing, or  doing  anylhing  else,  I  must  do  it  as  it  were  in  such  weight, 
number,  and  mea-^ure,  even  so  perfectly,  as  God  made  the  world,  or 
else  I  am  so  sharjily  taunted,  so  cruelly  threatened,  yea,  prescntlv, 
sometimes  with  pinches,  nips,  and  bobs,  and  other  ways,  (which  I  will 
not  name  for  the  honor  I  bear  them,)  so  without  measure  misordered 
that  I  think  myself  in  hell,  till  time  come  that  I  must  go  to  Mr.  El- 
mer,! who  teacheth  me  so  gently,  so  pleasantly,  wuth  such  fair  allure- 
ments to  learning,  that  I  think  all  the  time  nothing  while  I  am  with 
him.  And  wdien  I  am  called  from  him  I  fall  on  weeping,  because 
whatsoever  I  do  else  beside  learning,  is  full  of  grief,  trouble,  fear,  and 
whole  misliking  unto  me.  And  thus  my  book  hath  been  so  much  my 
pleasure,  and  bringeth  daily  more  pleasure  and  more  ;  that  in  respect  of 
it,  all  other  pleasures,  in  very  deed,  be  but  trifles  and  trou"bles  unto 

bury  Cathedral,  and   sent   Ambassador    to  Emperor    Charles  V.,    by  Henry  VIII.,— was 
kniphted  by  Edward  VI.,— and  died  in  15o6. 

*Mr.  Elmer,  or  .Tllmcr,  or  Aylmcr,  as  the  name  is  variously  written,  was  born  as  1521, 
studied  both  at  Oxford  and  Cambridge  at  the  cost  of  Henry  Grey,  Marquis  of  Dorset,  by  whom 
he  w?s  made  tutor  to  his  own  dau^diters,  of  whom  the  Lady  .lane  Grey  was  the  eldest,— was 
made  Arch  deacon  of  Sto we,  in  1553,— and  Bishop  of  London,  in  1576.  and  died  in  J594. 


ROGER  ASCHAM.  33 

me.""  I  remember  this  talk  gladly,  both  because  it  is  worthy  of 
memory  and  because  also  it  was  the  last  talk  I  had,  and  the  last  time 
that  I  ever  saw  that  noble  and  worthy  lady." 

The  interview,  simple  in  incident  as  it  was,  has  assumed  the 
dignity  of  a  piece  of  history,  and  its  illustration  has  been  a  favorite 
subject  both  for  the  author*  and  the  artist. 

Before  leave-taking,  Ascham  obtained  a  promise  of  the  Lady  Jane 
to  write  to  him  in  Greek,  on  condition  that  she  should  first  write  to 
her,  as  soon  as  he  arrived  in  the  Emperor's  court.f  His  epistle  is  ex- 
tant in  choice  Latin.  Alluding  to  the  circumstances  of  their  last  in- 
terview, he  declares  her  hv^ppier  in  her  love  of  good  books,  than  in 
her  descent  from  kings  and  queens.  No  doubt  he  spoke  sincerely, 
but  he  knew  not  then  how  truly.  Her  studious  quietude  of  spirit 
was  her  indefeasible  blessing,  while  her  royal  pedigreej  was  like  an 
hereditary  curse,  afflicting  her  humility  with  unwilling  greatness,  and 
her  innocence  with  unmerited  distress. 

Ascham  embarked  for  Germany  in  the  following  September.  Ho 
accompanied  Morysine  as  a  kind  of  secretary,  though  some  of  his  du- 
ties resembled  those  of  a  tutor,  comprising,  as  they  did,  the  reading  of 
"  all  Herodotus,  five  tragedies  of  Sophocles,  most  of  Euripides, 
the  orations  of  Isocrates,  and  twenty-one  orations  of  De- 
mosthenes," during  the  ambassador's  stay  at  Augsburg,  as  we 
are  informed  by  Ascham  himself,  in  a  letter  to  a  college  friend 
at  home.  But  besides  these  literary  labors,  he  took  a  share  in  the  di- 
plomatic correspondence,  and  is  said  to  have  been  consulted  on  all  af- 
fairs of  importance  by  his  principal.  He  also  occupied  himself  in 
preparing  a  "  Report  on  the  affairs  of  Germany,"  which  was  printed. 

His  urbanity,  readiness,  and  general  information,  recommended  him 

*  We  append  to  this  article,  an  '•  Imaginary  Conversation"  between  Roger  Ascham  and  I.ady 
Jane  Grey,  by  Waiter  Savage  Landor. 

t  These  particulars  we  learn  from  a  letter  of  Roger's  to  Slurminus,  dated  14th  December, 
1550,  in  which  he  promises  to  show  Jane's  epistle  to  the  German  scliolar,  when  it  should  ar- 
rive.    It  appears,  too,  that  the  Lady  was  requested  to  correspond  with  Sturmius  in  Greek. 

J  Lady  Jane  Grey  was  the  daughter  of  Frances  Brandon,  the  daughter  of  Mary  Q.ueen  Do- 
wager of  France,  and  sister  of  Henry  VIIL,  by  Charles  Brandon,  Duke  of  Suffolk.  Her  fath- 
er was  Henry  Grey,  Marquis  of  Dorset,  descended  from  Eliz.abeth.  Queen  to  Edward  IV.,  by 
her  former  marriage,  through  her  son,  Thomas  Grey,  who  married  the  King's  niece.  Tine 
father  of  Lady  Jane  was  created  Duke  of  SutTolk,  on  the  failure  of  the  male  line  of  the  Bran- 
dons. 

Lady  Jane  Grey,  or  to  speak  more  correctly,  Lady  Guilford  Dudley,  (for  she  perished  in 
her  honeymoon,)  wrote  her  last  letter  to  her  sister  Catharine  in  the  blank  pages  of  her  Greek 
Testament;  and  when  she  saw  her  bridegroom  led  to  execution  under  her  prison  window, 
she  wrote  three  several  sentences  in  her  tablets  in  as  many  languages.  The  first  in  Greek,  to 
Ihis  effect :— If  his  slain  body  shall  ijive  testimony  against  me  before  men,  his  blessed  soul  shall 
render  an  eternal  proof  of  my  innocence  before  God.  The  secontl  in  Latin  : — The  justice  of 
men  took  away  his  body,  but  the  divine  mercy  has  preserved  his  spirit.  Tlie  third  in  English  : — 
If  my  fault  deservtd  punishment,  my  youth  and  my  imprudence  were  worthy  of  excuse  :  God 
aod  posterity  will  show  me  favor. 

3 


34  ROGER  ASCHAM. 

not  less  to  Princes  and  Ministers,  than  his  Greek,  Latin,  logic,  and 
divinity,  to  John  Sturmius  and  Jerome  Wolfius.  The  courtiers  thought 
it  a  pity  he  was  not  always  attached  to  an  embassy,  and  the  learned 
regretted  that  he  should  ever  leave  the  schools.  Whatever  he  was 
doing  seemed  his  forte,  and  so  rife  were  his  praises  in  every  mouth, 
that  he  was  in  peril  of  the  woe  denounced  against  those  whom  "  all 
men  speak  well  of." 

During  his  absence  abroad,  his  friends  in  England  procured 
not  only  the  restoration  of  his  pension,  which  had  ceased  at  the 
death  of  Henry  VIII.,  but  the  place  of  Latin  secretary  to  Edward 
VL  For  these  favors  he  was  indebted,  as  appears  by  a  letter  of  As- 
cham  preserved  in  the  Lansdowne  MSS.,  to  the  interference  of  Sir 
William  Cecil,  the  Ambassador  Murysine,  and  Sir  John  Cheke. 

The  death  of  King  Edward  in  1553,  led  to  the  immediate  recall  of 
the  ambassador,  with  whom  Ascham  returned  to  England.  By  this 
event  he  lost  both  his  recent  preferments,  and  the  accession  of  the  Catho- 
lic Queen  Mary  held  out  such  dismal  prospects  for  the  future,  that 
Ascham  retired  to  his  college  almost  in  despair.  Matters  however 
took  an  unexpected  turn.  Sir  William  Paget,  whose  recommenda- 
tion of  the  "  Toxophilus"  to  King  Henry  had  procured  his  pension 
from  that  king,  now  exerted  his  influence  in  his  ftivor  with  Gardiner, 
Bishop  of  Winchester,  who,  notwithstanding  Ascham's  staunch  pro- 
testantisn)  was  often  represented  to  him,  proved  his  steady  patron. 
The  "Toxophilus"  was  produced  by  the  bishop  at  the  council,  and 
was  considered  so  useful  a  work,  that  the  objections  to  the  author's 
advancement  were  removed.  Ascham's  pension  was  not  only  restored, 
but  doubled,  and  he  was  appointed  Latin  secretary  to  king  Philip  and 
the  queen.  He  was  .so  diligent  in  his  office,  that  at  its  commence- 
ment he  is  recorded  to  have  written  in  three  days  no  less  than  forty- 
seven  letters  to  princes  and  great  personages,  the  lowest  in  rank  being 
a  cardinal.  These  of  course  were  all  written  with  his  own  hand,  one 
of  his  principal  qualifications,  in  addition  to  his  learning,  being  the 
excellence  of  his  penmanship,  for  which  he  had  been  celebrated  from 
his  college  days.  By  the  influence  of  Gardiner  he  was  also  enabled 
to  retain  his  fellowship  and  his  post  of  public  orator  at  the  university — 
when  by  strict  statute  he  might  have  been  deprived  of  them,  till 
they  were  vacated  by  his  marriage.  The  object  of  his  choice  was 
Mistress  Margaret  Howe,  a  lady  of  some  fortune  and  good  family,  to 
whom  he  was  united  on  the  1st  of  June,  1554.  A  letter  from  the 
"German  Cicero,"  Sturmius,  who  corresponded  with  our  author  with 
all  the  warmth  and  frequency  of  school  friendship,  dated  the  24th  of 
the  same  month,  jocosely  reproaches  him  with  omitting  to  communi- 


ROGER  ASCHAM. 


35 


cate  such  an  important  piece  of  business.  "But  what  is  it  I  hear? 
Would  you  keep  your  engagement  close,  for  fear  I  should  send  you  a 
nigh-Dutch  epithalamium  ?  I  am  informed  that  your  intended  is 
niece  to  the  wife  of  Mr,  Walop,  that  was  governor  of  Guisnes  when  I 
was  at  Calais.  Ah !  but  she  was  an  honest  madam,  a  fair  and 
comely  dame  !  If  it  be  so,  that  you  are  going  to  make  her  your 
spouse,  or  if  you  have  any  other  in  your  eye,  do  let  me  know,  and  tell 
me  when  the  day  is  to  be,  that  if  I  can  not  myself  be  present  at  the 
espousals,  I  may  send  Thalassius*  to  make  my  compliments  to  your 
love  in  my  stead."  Ascham  replied, — "  As  for  my  wife,  she  is  the 
picture  of  her  aunt  Walop,  and  all  that  John  Sturmius  could  wish  the 
wife  of  Roger  Ascham  to  be." 

The  singular  good  fortune  of  Ascham  in  not  only  escaping  persecu- 
tion, but  receiving  favor,  throughout  the  troubles  of  Mary's  reign, 
while  his  contemporaries  at  college  were  either  led  to  the  stake,  or 
compelled  to  recant,  is  a  problem  which  it  would  now  be  difficult  to 
solve.  Johnson  is  willing  to  attribute  it  to  chance;  other  biographers 
imagine  that  his  services  were  of  sufficient  importance  to  protect  his 
life;  while  all  allow  that  his  immunity  was  at  any  rate  not  purchased 
by  any  sacrifice  of  his  principles. 

On  the  death  of  Queen  Mary,  in  1558,  Ascham  was  soon  distin- 
guished by  the  notice  of  hor  successor.  He  had  long  before -taken 
pains  to  erase  from  Elizabeth's  mind  any  unfavorable  impression  that 
might  have  been  produced  by  his  abrupt  departure  from  her  service, 
and  his  excuses  had  been  favorably  received.  He  was  now  ajipointed 
Latin  secretary  and  tutor  in  Greek  to  her  Majesty,  and  during  the 
rest  of  his  life  was  a  constant  resident  at  court.  He  spent  some  hours 
every  day  in  reading  Greek  and  Latin  authors  with  the  queen,  and 
often  enjoyed  the  more  envied  honor  of  being  her  partner  or  oppo- 
nent in  games  of  chance.  He  obtained  from  her  several  pieces  of 
preferment,  the  principal  of  which  was  the  prebend  of  Wctwang  in 
the  cathedral  of  York,  which  he  received  in  1559. 

lie  liad  the  opportunity  of  fiequent  interviews  with  her  Majesty, 
and  had  the  favor  to  talk  Greek  and  Latin,  and  play  chess  with  her, — 
openings  which  a  more  artful  and  ambitious  man  might  easily  have 
improved.  But  the  pride  or  modesty  of  Roger  would  not  suffer  him 
to  ask  any  thing  for  himself  or  others.  Lideed  he  used  to  boast  of 
his  backwardness  in  this  particular,  often  averring  in  conversation,  that 
during  all  the  happy  hours  that  he  had  enjoyed  his  Lady  Sovereign's 
presence,  he  never  opened  his  mouth  to  enricli  himself  or  any  that  be- 
longed to  him ;  that  to  serve  his  mistress  well  was  his  best  reward ; 

*  Tlialassius  was  the  Roman  nuptial  god,  as  Hymen  was  the  Greek.     A  song  was  sung  at 
Weddings,  in  which  ''In  Thalassie''  was  })trpetually  rfpeated  like  a  burden. 


3 (J  ROGER  ASCHAM. 

that  lie  had  rather  freely  win  her  good  opinion  than  be  dressed  out  in 
her  munificence.  The  Lord  Treasurer,  who  was  his  friend  and  well- 
wisher,  often  admonished  him  to  take  less  pains,  and  urge  more  re- 
quests. But  Ascham  was  slow  even  to  receive  what  was  offered,  and 
thoroughly  content  with  his  condition,  which,  though  moderate,  was 
never,  as  Anthony  a  Wood  states  broadly,  and  a  hundred  others  have 
copied  from  him,  miserably  poor.  He  had  always  sufficient  for  the 
day,  and  was  not  one  of  those  that  lay  up  store  for  the  morrow.  He 
was  extremely  indignant  when  any  one  offered  him  presents  to  purchase 
his  interest  with  the  Queen,  saying,  that  God  had  not  given  him  the 
use  of  his  tongue  that  it  might  be  venal  and  subservient  to  his  profit. 
His  income  was  narrow,  he  was  neither  importunate  to  get,  nor 
provident  to  save — his  purse  and  house  were  always  open  to  the  dis- 
tressed scholar,  and  whatever  was  his,  was  his  friends'  also.  He  de- 
lighted much  in  an  epigram  of  Martial — 

Extra  fortunam  est  quicqiiid  donatur  amicis ; 
Quas  solas  dederis,  seini)er  liabebis  opes. 

The  friendly  boon  from  fate  itself  secures, 
And  what  you  give,  shall  be  for  ever  yours. 

This  is  not  the  way  to  grow  rich.  Roger  Ascham  was  generous, 
and  it  may  be  imprudent ;  but  there  is  no  just  cause  for  supposing  him 
viciously  extravagant. 

There  is  little  more  to  relate  of  the  last  ten  years  of  his  life.  Find- 
ing his  health  injured  by  night-studies,  he  for  a  time  discontinued 
them,  and  became  an  early  riser;  but  toward  the  close  of  1568  he  sat 
up  several  nights  successively  in  order  to  finish  a  poem  addressed  to 
the  Queen  on  the  new  year.  That  new  year  he  was  never  to  see. 
Long  subject  to  fever,  and  latterly  to  a  lingering  hectic,  his  over-exer- 
tion brought  on  a  violent  attack  which  his  weakened  constitution  was 
unable  to  withstand.  Sleep,  which  he  had  too  long  rejected,  could 
not  be  persuaded  to  visit  him  again, though  he  was  rocked  in  a  cradle; 
all  opiates  failed,  and  in  less  than  a  week,  exhausted  nature  gave  way 
to  the  slumber,  from  which  there  is  no  waking  on  this  side  of  the 
grave.  He  took  to  his  bed  on  the  28th  of  December,  and  expired  on 
the  30th  of  the  same  month,  1568,  aged  fifty-three.  He  was  attended 
to  the  last  by  Dr.  Alexander  Nowel,  Dean  of  St.  Paul's,  who,  on  the 
ensuing  fourth  of  January,  preached  his  funeral  sermon,  in  which  he 
declares  that  "  he  never  knew  man  live  more  honestly  nor  die  more 
christianly."  As  he  had  many  friend-s,  and  no  enemies,  his  death  was 
a  common  sorrow,  and  Queen  Elizabeth  is  reported  to  have  said,  that 
"she  Avould  rather  have  thrown  ten  thousand  pounds  into  the  sea, 
than  have  lost  her  Ascham." 

Notwithstanding  his  preferments,   Ascham  died  poor.     He  left  a 


ROGER  ASCHAM.  3'7 

widow,  to  whom  he  had  been  married  in  1554,  and  several  children, 
one  of  whom,  Giles,  was  in  after-life  fellow  of  St.  John's,  (or  Trinity, 
according  to  other  authorities,)  and  celebrated,  like  his  father,  fur  the 
elegance  of  his  Latin  cpi.'^tlos.  Ascham's  greatest  work,  "TheSchole- 
master,"  was  not  published  until  after  his  death.  The  occasion  of  its 
composition  is  told  in  the  beginning  of  the  book.  After  a  conversa- 
tion among  a  number  of  eminent  men.  Sir  William  Cecil  at  their 
head,  on  the  merits  of  severity  and  its  opposite  in  school  discipline, 
in  which  Ascham  warmly  attacked  the  former,  Sir  Richard  Sackville 
took  him  aside,  and  avowing  that  his  own  education  had  been  mar- 
red by  the  severity  of  his  tutor,  proposed  that  Ascham  should  draw 
up  a  plan  of  instruction,  and  recommend  a  person  under  whom  it 
could  be  put  in  ]iractiee,  having  for  his  scholars  Sir  Richard's  grandson, 
and  Ascham's  eldest  boy,  Giles.  Ascham  set  about  his  task  with  de- 
light; but  the  death  of  Sir  Richard  in  1566,  before  it  was  completed, 
put  an  end  to  the  proposed  scheme,  and  caused  the  author  to  finish 
his  work  with  a  sorrow  and  heaviness  in  sad  contrast  to  the  high 
hopes  with  which  he  entered  upon  it.  He  left  the  book  completed 
for  the  press,  when  he  died,  and  it  was  published  by  his  widow,  with 
a  dedication  to  Sir  William  Cecil,  and  with  a  view,  not  altogether 
disappointed,  of  attracting  his  attention  in  behalf  of  her  son  Giles 
to  whom  it  was  thus,  after  all,  of  some  benefit,  although  in  a  far  dif- 
ferent manner  from  what  the  author  could  have  anticipated.  The 
principal  object  of  the  work  besides  the  reprehension  of  severity  on 
the  part  of  teachers  and  parents,  is  the  introduction  of  a  new  system 
of  teaching  the  Latin  language,  a  system  which  has  been  partially 
revived  of  late  years.  Ascham  proposes,  after  teaching  the  rudi- 
ments of  grammar,  to  commence  a  course  of  double  translation,  first 
from  Latin  into  English,  and  shortly  after  from  English  into  Latin, 
correcting  the  mistakes  of  the  student,  and  leading  to  the  formation 
of  a  classic  style,  by  pointing  out  the  differences  between  the  re-trans- 
lation and  the  original,  and  explaining  their  reasons.  Ilis  whole  sys- 
tem is  built  upon  this  principle  of  dispensing  as  much  as  possible  with 
the  details  of  grammar,  and  he  supports  his  theory  by  a  triumphant 
reference  to  its  practical  effects,  especially  as  displayed  in  the  case  of 
Queen  Elizabeth,  whose  well-known  proficiency  in  Latin  he  declares 
to  have  been  attained  without  any  grammatical  rules  after  the  very 
simplest  had  been  mastered. 

The  excellence  of  Ascham's  epistolary  style  has  been  referred  to. 
lie  was  in  correspondence  with  most  of  the  learned  men  of  his  time, 
both  in  England  and  on  the  continent,  especially  with  Sturmius,  whose 
name  he  gave  to  one  of  his  three  sons.     After  his  death,  a  collection, 


38  ROGER  ASCHAM. 

of  his  Latin  letters  was  published  by  his  friend  Edward  Grant,  mas- 
ter of  Westminster  School,  together  with  a  few  poems,  for  the  benefit 
of  Giles  Ascham,  who  was  then  under  Grant's  tuition.  To  this  col- 
lection was  prefixed  a  panegyric  on  Ascham,  which  is  the  principal 
source  for  his  life,  though  his  letters,  and  numerous  allusions  scattered 
through  his  works,  contribute  to  a  knowledge  of  his  personal  history. 

A  writer  in  the  Retrospective  Review,  (Vol.  iv.  p.  76,)  in  an  inter- 
esting notice  of  Toxophilus  remarks  :  "Ascham  is  a  great  name  in  our 
national  literature.  He  was  one  of  the  founders  of  a  true  English  stylo 
in  prose  composition,  and  one  of  the  most  respectable  and  useful  of 
our  scholars.  He  was  amongst  the  first  to  reject  the  use  of  foreign 
words  and  idioms,  a  fashion,  which  in  the  reign  of  Henry  the  VHl., 
began  to  be  so  prevalent,  that  the  authors  of  that  day,  by  "  using 
straunge  wordes,  as  Latine,  Frenche,  and  Italian,  did  make  all  thinges 
darke  and  harde."  It  required  some  virtue  moreover  in  Ascham,  at- 
tached as  he  was  to  the  study  of  the  learned  languages,  to  abstain 
from  mingling  them  with  his  English  compositions,  especially  when 
the  public  taste  countenanced  such  innovations.  But  Aschauj's  mind 
was  too  patriotic  to  permit  him  to  think,  that  his  native  tongue  could 
be  improved  by  this  admixture  of  foreign  phrases,  an  opinion  which 
lie  illustrates  by  this  comparison  ; — "  but  if  you  put  malvesye  and 
sacke,  redde  wyne  and  white,  ale  and  beere,  and  all  in  one  pot,  you 
shall  make  a  drincke  not  easye  to  be  known  nor  yet  holsome  for  the 
bodye."  In  obedience  to  the  precept  of  Aristotle, — to  think  like  the 
wise,  but  to  speak  like  the  common  people ;  Ascham  set  a  successful 
example  of  a  simple  and  pure  taste  in  writing,  and  we  question 
whether  we  do  not  owe  more  to  him  on  this  account,  than  even  for  the 
zeal  which  he  displayed  in  the  cultivation  of  the  Greek,  language, 
during  its  infancy  amongst  us." 

Ascham's  character  is  well  summed  up  in  a  passage  of  his  life  by 
Mr.  Hartley  Coleridge  :  "There  was  a  primitive  honesty,  a  kindly 
innocence,  about  this  good  old  scholar,  which  gave  a  personal  interest 
to  the  homeliest  details  of  his  life.  He  had  the  rare  felicity  of  pas- 
sing through  the  worst  of  times  without  persecution  and  without  dis- 
honor. He  lived  with  princes  and  princesses,  prelates  and  diploma- 
tists, without  offence  and  without  ambition.  Though  he  enjoyed  the 
smiles  of  royalty,  his  heart  was  none  the  worse,  and  his  fortunes  litr 
tle  the  better." 


TOXOPHILUS;  THE  SCHOLE  OF  SHOOTINGE; 

BV    ROGER    ASCHAM,    WRITTEN   IN    1554, 


Before  introducing  to  our  readers  "  the  Schole  Master"  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, or  *'  the  plaine  and  perfite  way"  in  which  Roger  Ascham  led  his 
royal  pupil  up  the  sublime  heights  of  ancient  learning,  we  will  devote  a 
few  pages  to  a  brief  notice  and  a  few  specimens  of  his  Toxophilus. 

ToxoPHiLus  was  written  in  155+,  during  Ascham's  residence  at  the 
University  of  Cambridge,  and  seems,  in  addition  to  other  ends,  to  have 
been  intended  as  an  apology  for  the  zeal  with  which  he  studied  and  prac- 
ticed the  ancient,  but  now  forgotten  art  of  archery  as  a  means  of  recrea- 
tion. His  great  attachment  to  the  exercise,  and  the  time  spent  upon  it 
were  considered  unliccoming  the  character  of  a  grave  scholar  and  teacher. 

From  this  imputation,  he  endeavors  in  the  character  of  Toxophilus^  (a 
lover  of  archery,)  to  free  himself,  by  showing  in  a  dialogue  with  Philolo- 
gus^  (a  student,)  the  honor  and  dignity  of  the  art,  in  all  nations  and  in 
all  times.  He  asserts  truly  that  much  of  the  success  of  English  arms  at 
Cressy,  Poictiers,  Agincourt,  and  Flodden,  was  due  to  their  strength  of 
arm  and  accuracy  of  eye,  with  which  the  bold  yeomen  of  England  "drew 
their  arrows  to  the  head,"  and  discharged  the  "  iron  sleet"  against  their 
discomfited  enemies.  To  realize  the  part  which  the  practice  of  archery 
played  in  the  pastimes  of  peace,  we  have  only  to  recall  its  frequent  intro- 
duction into  the  rural  poetry  of  England,  and  the  traditionary  stories  of  the 
Strongbows  and  Robin  Hoods  of  ancient  days.  It  was  the  national 
practice  of  shooting  for  pleasure  or  prizes,  by  which  every  man  was  inured 
to  archery  from  his  inftvncy,  that  gave  the  English  yeomen  an  insuperable 
advantage  in  the  use  of  the  bow  over  all  foreign  troops,  and  made  them  for- 
midable even  to  foes  armed  with  the  clumsy  muskets  of  the  times  of  Queen 
Elizabeth.  We  do  not  propose  to  set  forth  Ascham's  encomiums  on  the 
utility  of  archer)"^  in  matters  of  war,  or  the  minute  practical  details  which 
he  gives  for  choosing  and  using  the  bow,  even  to  the  species  of  goose, 
from  the  wing  of  which  the  best  feathers  are  to  be  plucked  for  the  shaft, 
but  to  present  his  views  of  the  fitness  and  utility  of  manly  sports, 
and  recreating  amusements  for  those  who  lead  a  sedentary  life.  A  wri- 
ter in  the  Retrospective  Review,  (Vol.  IV.,  p.  79,)  in  commenting  on  this 
work  of  Ascham  justly  observes : 

*  Tlie  followinsf  is  the  title  in  Bennett's  Edition  of  Roger  Ascham's  Works : 
TOXOPIIII.IIS  :  The  Schole,  or  Partitions  of  Shooting.  Contayned  in  II  Bookes.  Writ- 
ten by  Roger  Ascham,  1554.  And  now  newly  perused.  Pleasant  for  all  Gentlemen  and 
Yomen  of  Englnnde.  For  theyr  pastime  to  reade,  and  profitable  lor  tlieyr  use  to  foUowe  in 
warre  and  peace.  Anno,  l.'".?!.  Imprinted  at  London,  in  Fletestreate,  near  to  Saint  Duo- 
■tones  Churche  by  Thomas  jMarshe. 


40  ASCHAMS  TOXOPHILUS. 

"A  scholar  seldom  takes  much  delight  in  active  amusements.  The 
body  is  always  postponed  to  the  mind  ;  and  provided  the  latter  has  exer- 
cise enough,  he  is  too  apt  to  be  negligent  of  the  health  and  comfort  of 
the  former.  On  this  account  the  amusements  of  literary  men  have  fre- 
quently a  degree  of  mental  labor  combined  with  them,  which  generally 
defeats  the  ends  they  ought  to  attain ;  or,  as  Fuller  says,  '  they  cozen 
their  mind  in  setting  it  to  do  a  double  task  under  pretense  of  giving  it  a 
play  day,  as  in  the  labyrinth  of  chess,  and  other  tedious  and  studious 
games.'  It  is  difficult  to  cheat  the  brain  into  idleness.  Kirk  White  could 
not  help  repeating  CJreek  verses  as  he  took  his  daily  walk.  Mere  exer- 
cise is  rather  painful  than  pleasant  to  studious  men,  and  accordingly  we 
find  they  often  hasten  over  it  like  a  disagreeable  task.  Swift  used  to  run 
up  and  down  hill  some  half  a  dozen  times  by  way  of  compressing  as 
much  exercise  as  possible  into  a  given  space  of  time, — a  mode  of  recrea- 
tion for  which  we  have  the  authority  of  Galen,  whose  catalogue  of  amuse- 
ments for  the  studious,  we  give  in  our  author's  words,  strongly  recom- 
mending them  to  the  attention  of  our  modern  literati. 

"  To  run  up  and  down  hill,  to  climb  up  a  long  pole  or  a  rope,  and  there 
hang  awhile,  to  hold  a  man  by  his  arms,'  and  wave  with  his  heels,  much 
like  the  pastime  the  boys  used  in  the  church  when  their  master  was 
away,  to  swing  and  totter  in  a  bell -rope,  to  make  a  fist  and  stretch  out 
both  his  arms,  and  so  stand  like  a  rood.  To  go  on  a  man's  tip-toes 
stretching  out  the  one  of  his  arms  forward,  the  other  backward,  which 
if  he  bleared  out  his  tongue  also,  might  be  thought  to  dance  antic  very 
properly.  To  tumble  over  and  over,  to  top  over  tail,  to  set  back  to  back 
and  see  who  can  heave  another's  heels  highest,  with  other  much  like." 

If  we  might  rely  on  the  word  of  Sir  Phillip  Sidney,  the  exercise  of 
riding  on  horseback  is  a  very  fitting  relaxation.  lie  gives  a  very  fascin- 
ating account  of  the  zeal  with  which  he  and  his  friend,  '  the  right  virtu- 
ous E.  W.,'  when  at  the  Emperor's  court  studied  this  science.  This  too 
was  an  amusement  which  met  with  the  approbation  of  Bishop  Stilling- 
fleet.  Moreover,  Erasmus  seems  to  have  been  attached  to  it,  who,  as 
Ascham  tells  us,  '  when  he  was  here  in  Cambridge,  and  when  he 
had  been  sore  at  his  book,  (as  Garret  our  book-binder  has  often  told  me,) 
for  lack  of  better  exercise  would  take  his  horse,  and  ride  about  the  mar- 
ket hill  and  come  again.'  Field  sports  seldom  take  the  fancy  of  literary 
men,  and,  nothwithstanding  the  praise  of  honest  Piscator,  Isaac  Walton, 
we  are  rather  inclined  to  think  with  another  old  writer,  that  '  fishing 
with  an  angle  is  rather  a  torture  than  a  pleasure,  to  stand  an  hour  as 
mute  as  the  fish  they  mean  to  take.'  After  all,  the  soberest  and  the  fit- 
test exercise,  is  a  quiet  and  refreshing  walk  in  the  field,  where  the  eye 
enjoys  a  pleasant  change  of  scene,  just  sufficient  to  attract  the  attention 
of  the  mind  without  fatiguing  it.  But  rn  this  opinion  we  run  completely 
counter  to  our  author,  who  speaks  of  this  mode  of  exercise  in  a  very 
contemptuous  manner. — '  Walking  alone  in  the  field  hath  no  token  of 
courage  in  it,  a  pastime  like  a  single  man  that  is  neither  flesh  nor  fish.'  " 

The  following  is  the  opening  of  the  discourse  between  Toxophilus  and 
Philologus,  in  which  the  former  endeavors  to  prove  that  some  relaxation 


ASCIIAM'S  TOXOPHILDS.  4J 

and  pastime  are  to  be  mingled  with  study  and  the  serious  business  of 
life. 

PMlologus. — You  study  too  sore,  Tosophilus. 

Toxophtlus. — I  will  not  hurt  nij^sclf  overmuch,  I  warrant  you. 

Phil. — Take  heed  j'ou  do  not,  for  we  physicians  say  that  it  is  neither  good  for 
the  eyes  in  so  clear  a  sun,  nor  yet  wholesome  for  the  body,  so  soon  after  meat 
to  look  upon  a  man's  book. 

Tox. — In  eating  and  studying  I  will  never  follow  any  physician,  for  if  I  did 
I  am  sure  I  should  have  small  pleasure  in  the  one,  and  less  courage  in  the 
other.     But  what  news  drove  you  hither,  I  pray  you? 

Phil. — Small  news,  truly,  but  that  as  I  came  on  walking,  I  fortuned  to  come 
with  three,  or  four  that  went  to  shoot  at  the  pricks;  [marA-,]  and  when  I  saw 
not  you  among  them,  but  at  last  espied  you  looking  on  your  book  here  so  sadly, 
\se.rimusly,'\  I  thought  to  come  and  hold  you  with  some  communication,  lest  your 
book  should  run  away  with  you.  For  methought,  by  your  wavering  pace  and 
earnest  looking,  your  book  led  you,  not  you  it. 

Tox. — Indeed,  as  it  chanced,  my  mind  went  faster  than  my  feet,  fori  happened 
here  to  read  in  Phedro  Platouis,  a  place  that  treats  wonderfully  of  the  nature 
of  souls;  which  place,  whether  it  were  for  the  passing  eloquence  of  Plato  and 
the  Greek  tongue,  or  for  the  high  and  goodl_ve  description  of  the  matter,  kept 
my  mind  so  occupied,  that  it  had  no  leisure  to  look  to  my  feet.  For  I  was 
reading  how  some  souls  being  well  feathered,  flew  always  about  heaven  and 
heavenly  matters:  other  some  having  their  feathers  mouted  away  and  dropping, 
sank  down  into  earthly  things. 

Phil. — I  remember  the  place  very  well,  and  it  is  wonderfully  said  of  Plato  : 
and  now  I  see  it  was  no  marvel  though  your  feet  failed  you,  seeing  your  mind 
flew  so  fast. 

Tox. — I  ana  glad  now  that  you  letted  {intarrupted]  me,  for  my  head  aches 
with  looking  on  it,  and  because  you  tell  me  so,  I  am  very  sorry  that  I  was  not 
with  those  good  fellows  you  spake  upon,  for  it  is  a  very  fair  day  for  a  man  to 
shoot  in. 

Phil. — And  methinks  you  were  a  groat  deal  better  occupied,  and  in  better 
company,  for  it  is  a  very  fair  day  for  a  man  to  go  to  his  book  in. 

Tijx.—X[\  days  and  weathers  will  serve  for  that  purpose,  and  surely  this  oc- 
casion was  ill  lost. 

Pldl. — Yes,  but  clear  weather  makes  clear  minds,  and  it  is  best,  as  I  suppose, 
to  spend  the  best  time  upon  the  best  things,  and  methought  you  shot  very  well, 
and  at  that  mark  at  which  every  good  scholar  should  most  busily  shoot  at. 
And  I  suppose  it  be  a  great  deal  more  pleasure  to  see  a  soul  fly  in  Plato,  than 
a  shaft  fly  at  the  pricks.  I  grant  you  shooting  is  not  the  worst  thing  in  the 
world,  yet  if  we  shoot,  and  time  shoot,  we  arc  not  apt  to  be  great  winners  at 
the  length.  And  you  know  also,  that  we  scholars  have  more  earnest  and 
weighty  matters  in  hand,  nor  wo  be  not  born  to  pastime  and  play,  as  3'ou  know 
well  enough  who  sayeth. 

To.c. — Yet  the  same  man,  \_Cicero  da  offit:iis,'\  in  the  same  place,  Philologe,  by 
your  leave,  doth  admit,  wholesome,  honest,  and  manly  p;\stimes,  to  be  as  neces- 
sary to  be  mingled  with  sad  matters  of  the  mind,  as  eating  and  sleeping 
is  for  the  health  of  the  body,  and  yet  we  be  born  for  neither  of  both.  And 
Aristotle  himself,  [Ethics,  Book  10,  chap.  6.]  sayeth  although  it  were  a  fond  and  a 
childish  thing  to  be  too  earnest  in  pastime  and  play,  yet  doth  he  affirm,  by  the 
authority  of  the  old  poet,  Epicharmus,  that  a  man  may  use  play  for  earnest 
matters  sake.  And  in  another  place,  [Politics,  V.  61,  6,]  that,  as  rest  is  for 
labor,  and  medicines  for  health,  so  is  pastime,  at  times,  for  sad  and  weighty 
study. 

Phil. — TTow  much  in  this  matter  is  to  be  given  to  the  authority  of  Aristotle 
or  Tally.  I  can  not  tell,  seeing  sad  [serww]  men  may  well  enough  speak  merrily 
for  a  mere  matter:  this  I  am  sure,  which  thing  this  fair  wheat,  (God  save  it,) 
maketh  me  remember,  that  those  husbandmen  which  rise  earliest,  and  come 
latest  home,  and  are  content  to  have  their  dinner  and  other  drinkings  brought 
into  the  field  to  them,  for  fear  of  losing  time,  have  fatter  barns  in  the  harvest, 
than  they  which  will  either  sleep  at  noontime  of  the  day,  or  else  make  merry 
with  their  neighbors  at  the  ale.     And  so  a  good  scholar,  that  purposeth  to  be  a 


42  ASCIIAMS    TOXOPIIILDS. 

good  husband,  and  desireth  to  reap  and  enjoy  much  fruit  of  learning,  must  till 
and  sow  thereafter,  [in  order  to  it.  j  Our  best  seed  time,  -which  be  scliolars,  aa 
it  is  very  timely,  and  when  we  bo  young:  so  it  endureth  not  over  long,  and 
therefore  it  may  not  be  let  slip  one  hour;  our  ground  is  very  hard  and  full  of 
weeds,  our  iiorse  wherewith  we  be  drawn  very  wild,  aa  Plato  saith.  [Phcedro.] 
And  infinite  other  nio  lets,  [hindrances]  which  will  make  a  thrifty  scholar  take 
heed  how  he  spendeth  his  time  in  sport  and  play. 

Tox. — That  Aristotle  and  Tully  spake  earnestly,  and  as  they  thought,  the 
earnest  matter  wliieh  they  treat  upon,  doth  plainly  prove.  And  as  for  your 
husbandry,  it  was  more  [specioii-vlij]  told  with  apt  words,  projjer  to  the  thing, 
than  thorougld}'  proved  with  reasons  belonging  to  our  matter.  For  contrary- 
wise,  I  heard  myself  a  good  husband  at  ids  book  once  say,  that  to  omit  study 
•for  sometime  of  the  day,  and  sometime  of  the  year,  made  aa  much  for  the  in- 
crease of  learning,  as  to  let  the  land  lie  somethne  fallow,  maketh  for  the  better 
increase  of  corn. 

Thus  we  see,  if  the  land  be  ploughed  every  year,  the  com  cometh  thin  up; 
the  ear  is  short,  the  grain  is  small,  and  when  it  is  brought  into  the  barn  and 
threshed,  giveth  very  evil  faule.  [^yroduce.]  So  those  which  never  leave  pour- 
ing on  their  books,  have  oftentimes  as  thin  inventions  as  other  poor  men  have, 
and  as  small  wit  and  weight  in  it  as  other  men's.  And  thus  your  husbandry, 
methink  is  more  like  the  life  of  a  covetous  snudge,  that  oft  very  evil  proves,  than 
the  labor  of  a  good  husband,  that  kuoweth  well  what  he  doth.  And  surely  the 
best  wits  to  learning  must  needs  have  nmcli  recreation,  and  cease  from  their 
books,  or  else  the3-  mar  themselves :  when  base  and  dumpish  wits  can  never  be 
hiyt  with  continual  study ;  as  ye  see  in  luting,  that  a  treble  minikin  string 
must  always  be  let  down,  but  at  such  a  time  as  when  a  man  must  needs  play ; 
when  the  base  and  dull  string  needeth  never  to  be  moved  out  of  his  place. 
The  same  reason  I  find  true  in  two  bowes  that  I  have,  whereof  the  one  is  quick 
of  cast,  tricke  [neat]  and  trim,  botli  for  pleasure  and  profit;  the  other  is  a  lugge, 
[siivng  and  heavy,]  slow  of  cast,  following  the  string,  more  sure  for  to  last  than 
pleasant  for  u.se.  Now,  sir,  it  chanced  tlie  other  night,  one  in  my  chamber 
would  needs  bend  tliem  to  prove  their  strength,  but,  (I  can  not  tell  how,)  they 
were  both  left  bent  till  the  next  day  after  dinner ;  and  when  I  came  to  them,  pur- 
posing to  have  gone  on  shooting,  I  found  my  good  bow  clean  cast  [ioar2)ed]  on 
the  one  side,  and  as  weak  as  water,  that  surely,  if  I  was  a  rich  man,  1  would 
rather  have  spent  a  crown ;  and  as  for  my  lugge  it  was  not  one  whit  the  worse, 
but  shot  by  and  by  as  well  and  as  far  as  it  ever  did.  And  even  so,  I  am 
sure  that  good  wits  except  they  be  let  down  like  a  treble  string  and  unbent 
like  a  good  casting  bow,  they  will  never  last  and  be  able  to  continue  in  study. 
And  I  know  where  I  speak  this.  Philologus,  for  I  would  not  not  say  thus  much 
afore  young  men,  for  they  will  take  soon  occasion  to  study  little  enough. 
But  I  say  it  therefore,  because  I  know,  as  little  study  getteth  little  learning,  or 
none  at  all,  so  the  most  study  getteth  not  the  most  learning  of  all.  For  a  man's 
wit  fore-occupied  in  earnest  study,  must  be  as  well  recreated  with  some  honest 
pastime,  as  the  body,  fore-laboured  must  be  refreshed  v/ith  sleep  and  quietness, 
or  else  it  can  not  endure  very  long,  as  the  noble  poet  [Ovid]  saith: — 

"  Wliat  thing  wants  quiet  and  merry  rest,  endures  but  a  small  while." 
Philologus  was  not  disposed  to  yield  up  readil}'  his  objections  to  shooting, 
and  so  challenges  Toxophilus  to  a  discussion  of  the  subject,  upon  which  the 
latter  enters  right  heartily.  He  traces  its  origin,  according  to  various  authori- 
ties among  the  poets  and  historians  to  Jupiter,  and  Apollo,  and  cites  its  use 
among  the  Medes  and  Persians,  Greeks  and  Romans,  by  Aviso  lawgivers,  and 
emment  princes,  by  poets  and  physicians.  He  cites  the  authority  of  Lycurgus 
to  show  that  "the  Lacedemonians  never  ordained  anything  for  the  bringing  up 
of  youths  which  was  not  joined  with  labor ;  and  that  labor  which  is  in  shoot- 
ing of  all  other  is  best,  both  because  it  increaseth  strength,  and  preserveth  health 
most,  being  not  vehement,  but  moderate,  not  overlaying  any  one  part  with  wea- 
riness, but  softly  exorcising  every  part  with  equalness ;  as  the  arras  and  breast 


ASCHAM'S  ToxopinLUa.  43 

■with  drawing,  the  other  parts  with  giving,  being  also  pleasant  for  the  pastime, 
which  exercise  by  the  judgment  of  the  best  physicians  is  most  allowable." 

"By  shooting  also  is  the  mind  honestly  exercised,  whore  a  man  always  de- 
sireth  to  be  best,  and  that  by  the  same  way,  that  virtue  itself  doth,  coveting  to 
come  nighest  a  most  perfect  end,  or  mean  standing  betwixt  two  extremes, 
escliewing  sport,  or  gone  [too  far]  on  either  side,  for  which  causes  Aristotle  him- 
self saith,  that  shooting  and  virtue  bo  very  Tke.  Moreover  that  shooting  of  all 
others,  is  the  most  honest  pastime,  and  that  least  occasion  to  naughtiness  is 
joined  with  it,  two  things  do  very  plainly  prove,  which  be,  as  a  man  would 
say,  the  tutors  and  overseers  to  shooting;  daylight  and  open  place  where  every 
man  doth  come,  the  maintainors  and  keepers  of  shooting  from  all  unhonest 
doing." 

Phihlogm  urges,  that  if  scholars  must  have  pasthne  and  recreation  for  their 

minds,  "let  them  use  music  and  playing  on  instruments,  as  more  seemly  for 

scholars,  and  most  regarded  always  of  Apollo  and  the  Muses."     Toxophilus 

adds,  even  as  I  can  not  deny  but  some  music  is  for  learning,  so  I  trust  you  can 

not  choose  but  grant  that  shooting  is  fit  also,  as  Callemarchas  does  signify  in 

this  verse. 

^'■Bolh  merry  song  and  good  shootiny  delighteth  Apollo." 

He  then  proceeds  to  criticise  the  effect  of  music  on  the  those  who  devote 
much  time  to  it,  as  being  much  more  suitable  to  women  than  men.  Philologus, 
however,  dwells  on  the  humanizing  influence  on  the  manners  which  would  fol- 
low, if  the  whole  people  were  taught  to  sing  and  enjoy  good  music,  and  also  on 
the  uses  which  lawyers  and  preachers  would  find  in  a  proper  culture  of  the 
voice.  He  therefore  concludes  that  as  singing  is  an  aid  to  good  speaking,  and 
to  making  men  better,  "  as  daily  experience  doth  teach,  the  example  of  wise 
men  doth  allow,  authority  of  learned  men  doth  approve,"  it  should  be  part  of 
the  education  and  pastime  of  every  youth.  But  as  for  shooting,  he  can  not 
think  that  "  a  man  can  be  in  earnest  in  it,  and  earnest  at  his  book  to." 

In  defending  his  favorite  pastime,  Toxophilus  grants  that  shooting  should  be 
"a  waiter  upon  learning,  not  a  mistress  over  it."  "A  pastime  must  be  whole- 
some, and  equal  for  every  part  of  the  body,  pleasant,  and  full  of  courage  for  the 
mind,  not  vile  and  dishonest  to  give  ill  examiDle  to  other  men,  not  kept  in  gar- 
dens and  corners,  not  lurking  into  the  night  and  in  holes,  but  evermore  in  the 
face  of  men." 

In  the  above  views  expressed  by  Toxophilus,  Ascham  is  sustained  by  the 
Rev.  Dr.  Thomas  Fuller,  who  in  his  Holy  State  expresses  himself  in  this  quaint 
■way.  "  Recreation  is  a  second  creation,  when  weariness  hath  almost  annihila- 
ted one's  spirits.  It  is  the  breathing  of  the  soul,  wliich  otherwise  would  be 
stifled  with  continual  business. 

"  Take  heed  of  boisterous  and  over-violent  exercises.  Ringing  has  often- 
times made  good  music  on  the  bells,  and  put  men's  bodies  out  of  tune,  so  that 
by  over-heating  themselves,  they  have  rung  their  own  passing  bolls. 

"  Refresh  that  part  of  thyself  which  is  most  wearied.  If  thy  life  bo  sedenta- 
ry, exercise  thy  body;  if  stirring  and  active,  recreate  thy  mind.  But  take 
heed  of  cozening  thy  mind,  in  setting  it  to  a  double  task,  under  pretense  of 
giving  it  a  play-day,  as  in  the  labyrinth  of  chess  and  other  tedious  and  studious 
games. 

"  Yet  recreations  distasteful  to  some  dispositions,  relish  best  to  others.  Fish- 
ing with  an  angle  is  to  some  rather  a  torture  than  a  pleasure,  to  stand  an  hour 
as  mute  as  a  fish  they  mean  to  take.  Yet  herewithal  Dr.  Whitaker  was  much 
dehghtcd.     "When  some  noblemen  had  gotten  Wilham  Cecil,  Lord  Burleigh  and 


44  ASCHAM'S  TOXOPIIILUS. 

the  Treasurer  of  England,  to  ride  with  them  a  hunting,  and  the  sport  began  to 
be  cold,  'what  call  you  this?'  said  the  Treasurer.  '0,  now,'  said  they,  'the 
dogs  are  at  fault.'  'Yea,'  quoth  the  Treasurer,  'take  me  again  in  such  a  fault, 
and  I'll  give  you  leave  to  punish  me.'  Thus  as  soon  may  the  same  meat  please 
all  palates,  as  the  same  sports  suit  all  dispositions. 

"  Running,  leaping,  and  dancing,  the  descants  on  the  plain  song  of  walking, 
are  all  excellent  exercises.  And  yet  those  are  best  recreations,  which  beside 
refreshing,  enable,  at  least  dispose  men  to  some  other  good  ends.  Bowling 
teaches  men's  hands  and  eyes  mathematics,  and  the  rules  of  proportion ;  swim- 
ming hath  saved  many  a  man's  life,  when  himself  hath  been  both  the  waves  and 
the  ship ;  tilting  and  fencing  is  war  without  anger ;  and  manly  sports  are  the 
grammar  of  military  performance. 

"But  above  all,  shooting  is  a  noble  recreation,  and  a  half  liberal  art.  A  rich 
man  told  a  poor  man  that  he  walked  to  get  a  stomach  for  his  meat.  'And  I,' 
said  the  poor  man,  '  walk  to  get  meat  for  mj"^  stomach.'  Now  shooting  would 
have  fitted  both  their  turns ;  it  provides  food  when  men  are  hungrj-,  and  helps 
digestion  when  they  are  full. 

"  Recreation,  rightlj^  taken,  shall  both  strengthen  labor,  and  sweeten  rest, 
and  we  ma}'  expect  God's  blessing  and  protection  on  us  in  following  them,  as 
w^l  as  in  doing  our  work  ;  for  he  that  saith  grace  for  liis  meat,  in  it  also  prays 
God  to  bless  the  sauce  unto  him.  As  for  those  that  will  not  take  lawful  pleas- 
ure, I  am  afraid  they  will  take  unlawful  pleasure,  and  by  lacing  themselves  too 
hard,  grow  awry  on  one  side." 

"We  have  confined  our  notice  of  Toxophilus  to  the  description  of  archery  as  a 
recreation.  The  book  is  fuU  of  maxims  of  profound  practical  wisdom,  of  ex- 
quisitely touched  pictures  of  manners,  and  of  delightful  tributes  to  learning. 
The  discourse  concludes  in  this  manner : 

Tox. — This  communication  handled  of  me,  Philogue,  as  I  know  well  not  per- 
fectly, yet  as  I  suppose  truly,  you  must  take  in  good  worth,  wherein,  if  divers 
things  do  not  altogether  please  you,  thank  yourself,  which  would  rather  have 
me  faulte  in  mere  folly,  to  take  that  thing  in  hand,  which  I  was  not  able  to  per- 
form, than  by  any  honest  shamefacedness  with-saye  your  request  and  mind, 
which  I  know  well  I  have  not  satisfied.  But  yet  I  wiU  think  this  labor  of  mine 
better  bestowed,  if  to-morrow,  or  some  other  day  when  you  have  leisure,  you 
will  spend  as  much  time  with  me  here  in  this  same  place,  in  entreating  the 
question,  deorigine  animce,  and  the  joining  of  it  with  the  body  that  I  may  know 
how  far  Plato,  Aristotle,  and  the  Stoicans,  have  waded  in  it. 

Phil. — How  you  have  handled  this  matter,  Toxophile,  I  may  not  tell  you 
myself  now,  but  for  your  gentleness  and  good  will  toward  learning  and  shoot- 
ing, I  will  be  content  to  show  you  any  pleasure  whensoever  you  will ;  now  the 
sun  is  down,  therefore  if  it  please  you,  we  will  go  home  and  drink  in  my  cham- 
ber, and  then  I  will  tell  you  plainly  what  I  think  of  this  communication,  and 
also  what  day  we  will  appoint,  at  your  request,  for  the  other  matter  to  meet 
here  again. 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER. 

OB  A  PLADf  AND  PERFECT  WAY  OF  TEACHING  CHILDREN  TO  UNDERSTAND,  WRITE 
AND   SPEAK   THE   LATIN   TONGUE.* 

BY    ROGER    ASCHAM. 

Written  in  1563-4,  and  first  printed  in  1571. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  READER. 

When  tlie  great  plague  was  at  London,  the  year  1563,  the  Queen's 
Majesty,  Queen  Elizabeth,  lay  at  her  Castle  of  Windsor;  where, 
upon  the  tenth  day  of  December,  it  fortuned,  that  in  Sir  William 
Cecil's  chamber,  her  Highness's  principal  Secretary,  there  dined  to- 
gether these  personages,  M.  Secretary  himself,'  Sir  William  Peter,*  Sir 
J.  Mason, ^  D.  Wotton,^  Sir  Richard  Sackville,'  Treasurer  of  the  Exche- 
quer, Sir  Walter  Mildmay,^  Chancellor  of  E.xchequer,  M.  Iladdon,^  Master 
of  Requests,  M.  John  Astely,^  Master  of  the  Jewel  House,  M.  Bernard 
Hampton,^  M.  Nicasius, ' "  and  I. ' '  Of  which  number,  the  most  part  were 
of  her  Majesty's  most  honorable  Privy  Council,  and  the  rest  serving  her 
in  very  good  place.  I  was  glad  tlien,  and  do  rejoice  yet  to  remember, 
that  my  chance  was  so  happy  to  be  there  that  day,  in  the  company 
of  so  many  wise  and  good  men  together,  as  hardly  then  could  have 
been  picked  out  again,  out  of  all  England  beside. 

M.  Secretary  hath  this  accustomed  manner ;  though  his  head  be 
never  so  full  of  most  weighty  aft'airs  of  the  realm,  yet  at  dinner  time 
he  doth  seem  to  lay  them  always  aside;  and  findeth  ever  fit  occasion 
to  talk  pleasantly  of  other  matters,  but  most  gladly  of  some  matter 
of  learning,  wherein  he  will  courteously  hear  the  mind  of  the  meanest 
at  his  table. 

Not  long  after  our  sitting  down,  "I  have  strange  news  brought  me. 
saith  M.  Secretary,  this  morning,  that  divers   scholars  of  Eaton   run 

*  The  following  is  the  original  title  of  the  work,  as  given  by  Upton. 

THE 

SCHOLEMASTER; 

Or  plaine  and  perfite  Way  nf  tcac/ihig  Children,  to  understand,  irri't,  and  speake,  the  Latin 
Tongue,  but  specially  purposed  for  the  private  bringing  up  of  Youth  in  Jentlemen  and 
Noblemens  Iluuses,  and  cornrriodioiis  also  for  all  such  as  have  forgot  the  Latin  Tongue,  and 
would,  by  themselves,  tcithout  a  Schulem aster,  in  short  Tyme,  and  with  small  Paines,  recover 
asnjficient  Ilabilitie,  to  understand,  write,  and  speake  Latin. 
By  Roger  Ascham, 
Anno  1571. 

AT     LONDON, 

Printed  by  John  Daye.  dwelling  over  Aldersgate. 
Cum  Gratia  if  PrivHegio  Regioi  Mujestatis.  per  Decennium. 
1.  2,  &c.     The  Numerals  refer  to  Annotal ions  on  pages  IGl — 16G. 


iQ  .  ASCIIAM  S    SCHOOLMASTER. 

awayfrom  the  schoolfor  fear  of  a  beating."  "*  Whereupon  M.  Secretary 
took  occasion  to  wish,  that  some  more  discretion  were  in  many  school- 
masters, in  using  correction,  than  commonly  there  is;  who  many 
times  punish  rather  the  weakness  of  nature,  than  the  fault  of  the 
scholar;  whereby  many  scholars,  that  might  else  prove  well,  be  driven 
to  hate  learning  before  they  know  what  learning  meaneth ;  and  so 
are  made  willing  to  forsake  their  book,  and  be  glad  to  be  put  to  any 
other  kind  of  living. 

M.  Peter,  as  one  somewhat  severe  of  nature,  said  plainly,  that  the 
rod  only  was  the  sword,  that  must  keep  the  school  in  obedience, 
and  the  scholar  in  good  order.  Mr.  Wotton,  a  man  mild  of  nature, 
with  soft  voice  and  few  words,  inclined  to  M.  Secretary's  judgment, 
and  said,  "  In  mine  opinion  the  school-house  should  be  in  deed,  as 
it  is  called  by  name,  the  house  of  play  and  pleasure,  and  not  of  fear 
and  bondage ;  and  as  I  do  remember,  so  saith*  Socrates  in  one  place 
of  Plato.  And  therefore  if  a  rod  carry  the  fear  of  a  sword,  it  is  no 
marvel  if  those  that  be  fearful  of  nature,  choose  rather  to  forsake  the 
play,  than  to  stand  always  within  the  fear  of  a  sword  in  a  fond  {foolish) 
man's  handling.'' 

M.  Mason,  after  his  manner,  was  very  merry  with  both  partie.'., 
pleasantly  playing  both  with  the  shrewd  touches  of  many  curstf  boys, 
and  with  the  small  discretion  of  many  lewdf  schoolmasters.  M.  Had- 
don  was  fully  of  M.  Peter's  opinion,  and  said,  that  the  best  school- 
master of  our  time  was  the  J  greatest  beater,  and  named  the  per- 
son. "  Though,  quoth  I,  it  was  his  good  fortune,  to  send  from  his 
school  into  the  Univei'sity§  one  of  the  best  scholars  indeed  of  all 
our  time,  yet  wise  men  do  think,  that  that  came  to  pass,  rather  by 
the  great  towardness  of  the  scholar,  than  by  the  great  beating  of  the 
master;  and  whether  this  be  true  or  no,  you  yourself  are  best  witness.'' 
I  said  somewhat  further  in  the  matter,  how,  and  why  young  children 
were  sooner  allured  by  love  than  driven  by  beating,  to  attain  good 
learning ;  wherein  I  was  the  bolder  to  say  my  mind,  because  M.  Sec- 
retary courteously  provoked  me  thereunto ;  or  else  in  such  a  company 

'The  passage,  to  which  the  Dean  of  Canterbury  refers,  is  in  Plato's  7ih  Hook  of  Repub  , 
Chap.  16,  and  is  afterwnrci  cited  hy  Mr.  A.tc/iavi.  Tu  fiiv  Toivvv  XoyiffKov  tc  koi  yccoijCTOiiov, 
Kai  nao-ns  riTs  -rpoTraiihai,  Sjv  rijf  Aia\cKTtKn(  icT  TrponaticvOrjvai,  natg'tv  uai  xpfl  ^po6a\Xeiv 
ix  <»'S  inavayKCS  fiaOclv  rd  oxVfC  rii  itfaxni  Jroiit/iti'Kj.  Ti  6ii ;  "  On  (nv6'  iycii)  iSiv  fiaOrifta 
ftCTa  6u\iiai  run  iXcvOepov  %/)f/  ixavOivctv.  O!  fitv  j  ap  tu  iTMiiaroi  ndvoi,  6(a  irdvijicvoi,  x^^P"' 
oi&iv  rn  tTi.'fia  hneoya^oi'Tai,  4'iiYij  ii  0iatuv  ifcv  t^/tovov  ftaOrffia  'K\riOfi,  £(/ii7.  M>?  riSii'iii' 
8ta  {ciTtov')  <J  u.oif£,  T-if  TTfiiJaf  tc  Tols  iinQr]jiaaiv,  dWa  Trai^ovras  rpitpc,  'iva  Kai  jiaWuv  oid< 
r'  7)5  KaOopav  iip'  S  iKairo;  iri(pvKCi>.  (17.) 

t  Curst,  mischievous  ;  lewd,  savage. 

J  This  Wds  Nicholas  Udel,  Master  of  Z7a/07i  School,  whom  Daie  BtWes.  Elegantissimus  omni- 
um bov  arum  li'crariim  Magistpr.  ft  f  rum /rlirissimus  intcrpres.  His  severity  his  cwn 
scholar,  Mr.  Tnsser,  lias  sufficiently  proclaim'd 

S  Tills  was  Mr.  //arfrfon,  sometime  Fellow  of  King's  College  in   Cambridge. 


ASCHAM'S  SCHOOLMASTER.  ^y 

and  purely  in  Lis  presence,  my  wont  is  to  be  more  willing  to  use 
mine  ears,  than  to  occupy  my  tongue. 

Sir  Walter  Mildmay,  M.  Astley,  and  the  rest,  said  very  little;  only 
Sir  Richard  Sackville  said  nothing  at  all.  After  dinner,  I  went  up  to 
read  with  the  Queen's  Majesty.  We  read  then  together  in  the  Greek 
tongue,  as  I  well  remember,  that  noble  oration  of  Demosthenes 
against  yEschines,  for  his  false  dealing  in  his  emb^issage  to  King 
Philip  of  Macadonie.  Sir  Ricliard  Sackville  came  up  soon  after,  and 
finding  me  in  her  Majesties  privy  chamber,  he  took  me  by  the  hand, 
and  carrying- me  to  a  window,  said  : 

"  M.  Ascham,  I  would  not  for  a  good  deal  of  money  have  been  this 
day  absent  from  dinner;  where,  though  I  said  nothing,  yet  I  gave 
as  good  ear,  and  do  consider  as  well  the  talk  that  passed,  as  any  one 
did  there.  M.  Secretary  said  very  wisely,  and  most  truly,  that  many 
young  wits  be  driven  to  hate  learning,  before  they  know  what  learn- 
ing is.  I  can  be  good  witness  to  this  myself;  for  a  fond  [foolish) 
schoolmaster,  before  I  was  fully  fourteen  years  old,  drave  me 
so  with  fear  of  beating  from  all  love  of  learning,  that  now, 
when  I  know  what  difference  it  is,  to  have  learning,  and  to  have  lit- 
tle, or  none  at  all,  I  feel  it  my  greatest  grief,  and  find  it  my  greatest 
hurt  that  ever  came  to  me,  that  it  was  my  so  ill  chance,  to  light  upon 
so  lewd  a  schoolmaster.  But  feeling  it  is  but  in  vain  to  lament  things 
past,  and  also  wisdom  to  look  to  things  to  come,  surely,  God  willing, 
if  God  lend  me  life,  I  will  make  this  my  mishap  some  occasion  of 
good  hap  to  little  Robert  Sackville  my  son's  son.  For  whose 
bringing  up,  I  would  gladly,  if  it  so  please  you,  use  specially  your 
good  advice.  I  hear  say  you  have  a  son  much  of  his  age ;  we  will 
deal  thus  together:  point  you  out  a  schoolmaster,  who  by  your  or- 
der shall  teach  my  son  and  yours,*^  and  for  all  the  rest,  I  will  ju-ovide, 
yea  tliough  they  three  do  cost  me  a  couple  of  hundred  pounds  by 
year  ;  and  beside,  you  shall  find  me  as  fast  a  friend  to  you  and  yours, 
as  perchance  .any  you  have."  Which  promise  the  worthy  gentleman 
surely  kept  with  me  until  his  dying  day. 

We  had  then  farther  talk  together  of  bringing  up  of  children,  of 
the  nature  of  quick  and  hard  wits,  of  the  right  choice  of  a  good  wit, 
of  fear,  and  love  in  teachingchildren.  We  passed  from  cliildren  and 
came  to  young  men,  namely,  gentlemen :  we  talked  of  their  too 
much  liberty  to  live  as  they  lust;  of  their  letting  loose  too  soon  to 
overmuch  experience  of  ill,  contrary  to  the  good  order  of  many  good 
old  Commonwealths  of  the  Persians,  and  Greeks ;  of  wit  gathered, 
and  good  fortune  gotten  by  some,  only  by  experience  without  learn- 
ing. And,  lastly,  he  required  of  me  very  earnestly  to  shew  what  I 
thought  of  the  common  going  of  English  men  into  Italy.     "  But,  saith 


48 


ASCIIAM  S  SCHOOLMASTER. 


he,  because  this  pjace,  and  this  time  will  not  suffer  so  long  talk,  ai 
these  good  matters  require,  therefore  I  pray  3'ou,  at  my  request,  and 
at  your  leisure,  put  in  sonic  order  of  writing  the  chief  points  of  this 
our  talk,  concerning  the  right  order  of  teaching,  and  lionesty  of  Hv- 
ing,  for  the  good  bringing  up  of  children  and  young  men  ;  and  sure- 
ly, beside  contenting  me,  you  sliall  both  please  and  profit  very  many 
others."  I  made  some  excuse  by  lack  of  ability,  and  weakness  of 
body.  "  Well,  saith  he,  T  am  not  now  to  learn  what  you  can  do  ;  our 
dear  friend,  good  M.  Goodricke,*  whose  judgment  I  could  well  believe, 
did  once  for  all  satisfy  me  fully  therein.  Again,  I  heard  you  say,  not 
long  ago,  that  you  may  thank  Sir  John  Cheke'^  for  all  the  learning  you 
have ;  and  I  know  very  well  myself,  that  you  did  teach  the  Queen. 
And  therefore,  seeing  God  did  bless  you,  to  make  you  the  scholar  of 
the  best  master,  and  also  the  schoolmaster  of  the  best  scholar,  that 
ever  were  in  our  time,  surely,  you  should  please  God,  benefit  your 
country,  and  honest  your  own  name,  if  you  would  take  the  pains  to 
impart  to  others  what  you  learned  of  such  a  master,  and  how  you 
taught  such  a  scholar.  And  in  uttering  the  stuff  ye  received  of  the 
one,  in  declaring  the  order  ye  took  with  the  other,  ye  shall  never  lack 
neither  matter,  nor  manner,  what  to  write  nor  how  to  write,  in  this 
kind  of  argument." 

I  beginning  some  further  excuse,  suddenly  was  called  to  come  to 
the  Queen.  The  night  following,  I  slept  little ;  my  head  was  so  full 
of  this  our  former  talk,  and  I  so  mindful  somewhat  to  satisfy  the  hon- 
est request  of  so  dear  a  friend.  I  thought  to  prepare  some  little 
treatise  for  a  New-years'  gift  that  Christmas :  but,  as  it  chanceth  to 
busy  builders,  so,  in  building  this  my  poor  school-house,  (the  rather 
because  the  form  of  it  is  somewhat  new,  and  differing  from  others,) 
the  work  rose  daily  higher  and  wider,  than  I  thought  it  would  at  the 
beginning. 

And  though  it  appear  now,  and  be  in  very  deed,  but  a  small  cot- 
tage, poor  for  the  stuftj  and  rude  for  the  workmanship;  yet  in  o-oing 
forward  I  found  the  site  so  good,  as  I  was  loth  to  give  it  over;  but 
the  making  so  costly,  out-reaching  my  ability,  as  many  times  I  wished 
that  some  one  of  those  three,  my  dear  friends,  with  full  pur.ses.  Sir, 
Tho.  Smith,  M.  Iladdon,  or  M.  Watson  had  had  the  doing  of  it.  Yet 
nevertheless,  I  myself  spending  gladly  that  little,  that  I  gat  at  home 
by  good  Sir  John  Cheke,  and  that  I  borrowed  abroad  of  my  fi'iend 
Sturmius,'^  beside  somewhat  that  was  left  me  in  reversion,  by  my  old 
Masters  Plato,  Aristotle  and  Cicero,  I  have  at  last  patched  it  up,  as  I 
could,  and  as  you  see.  If  the  matter  be  mean,  and  meanly  handled, 
I  pray  you  bear  both  with  me,  and   it;  for  never  work  went  up  in 

•  Bisliop  of  Ely,  and  Loni  Chancellor  under  Edward,  VI. 


ASCHAM'S  SCHOOLMASTKR.  4g 

worse  weather,  with  more  lets  and  stojjs,  than  this  poor  school-house 
of  mine.  Westminster-Hall  can  bear  some  witness,  beside*  much 
weakness  of  body,  but  more  trouble  of  mind,  by  some  such  sores,  as 
•grieve  me.  to  touch  them  myself;  and  therefore  I  purpose  not  to  open 
them  to  others.  And  in  the  midst  of  outward  injuries,  and  inward 
cares,  to  increase  them  withal,  good  Sir  Richaixl  Sackville  di(jth,  that 
worthy  gentleman  ;  "That  earnest  ftivorer  and  furtherer  of  God's  true 
Religion ;  tliat  faithful  servitor  to  his  prince  and  country ;  a  lover 
of  learning,  and  all  learned  men  ;  wise  in  all  doings  ;  courteous  to 
all  persons,  shewing  spite  to  none,  doing  good  to  many  ;  and  as  I 
well  found,  to  me  so  fast  a  friend,  as  I  never  lost  the  like  before." 
When  he  was  gone,  my  heart  was  dead ;  there  was  not  one  that 
wore  a  black  gown  for  him,  who  carried  a  heavier  heart  for  him, 
than  I ;  when  he  was  gone,  I  cast  this  book  away ;  I  could  not  look 
upon  it,  but  with  weeping  eyes,  in  remembring  him,  who  was  the  on- 
ly setter  on,  to  do  it ;  and  would  have  been  not  only  a  glad  commen- 
der  of  it,  but  also  a  sure  and  certain  comfort  to  me,  and  mine  for  it. 

Almost  two  years  together,  this  book  lay  scattered  and  neglected, 
and  had  been  quite  given  over  of  me,  if  the  goodness  of  one  had  not 
given  me  some  life  and  spirit  again.  God,  the  mover  of  goodness, 
prosper  always  him  and  his,  as  he  hath  many  times  comforted  me  and 
mine,  and,  I  trust  to  God,  shall  comfort  more  and  more.  Of  whom 
most  justly  I  may  say,  and  very  oft,  and  always  gladly  I  am  wont  to 
say,   that  sweet    verse   of  Sophocles,   spoken    by  Oedipus  to  worthy 

Theseus. 

"E^^cd  yap  a  "p^w  Sid  (fl,  xsx  aXXov  ^poTwv.j- 

This  hope  hath  helped  me  to  end  this  book ;  which  if  he  allow,  I 
shall  think  my  labors  well  employed,  and  shall  not  much  esteem  the 
misliking  of  any  others.  And  I  trust  he  shall  think  the  better  of  it 
because  he  shall  find  the  best  part  thereof  to  come  out  of  his  school 
whom  he  of  all  men  loved  and  liked  best. 

Yet  some  men,  friendly  enough  of  nature,  but  of  small  judgment 
in  learning,  do  think  I  take  too  much  pains,  and  spend  too  much 
time,  in  setting  forth  these  childrens  affiiirs.  But  those  good  men  were 
never  brought  up  in  Socrates's  school,  who  saith;];  plainly,  "  that  no 

*  Ingravescenle  jam  tetate.  a  nocturnis  el  pomeridianis  studiis  abhorrebal :  Anlnlucanis 
el  ma'utinis  lemporibus  legehat,  commentahatuT.  studchat,  srrihrhat.  Eral  corpore  imbecillia, 
el  vaietudhiarius,  multis  mnrbis  frnctus,  continentibus  /ebribus  c.orrfptns,variis,  agrota- 
lionif/KS  ajflicncs  ;  qua  pinicin  ante  mortem  imnin  eiim  in  htcl icamfebrim  conjccerunt.  This 
is  taken  out  of  Mr    Grant's  excellent  Oration  on  Mr.  Ascliam.  (19  ) 

t  Fur  whatsoever  I  have,  I  have  through  thee,  and  through  none  other  of  living  wen. 

(J)  Piato  in  initio  Theagis:  AXXa  fiiv  S!],  to  AnfiioKe.  koli  XiyCTai  ye  trv/xSuXfi  lepuv  XP'il"^ 
tlvai.   clvcp  «v  Kai  aXXi?  f)TisSv  iiiv  Icpa,  Kat  avrri  av  eirj,  ncpi  >jj  ai  vvv  aVftj^nXtict.    'Ou  yap 
In  ncpl  Stu  deiOTcpu  av  afBpoiiroi  ffuXeiaatTO,  i";  -rrtni  ITaiiltiaj  /cui  avTU,  Kai  TOJv  avrS  CtKcloiv. 
This  Passage  is  cited  by  the  Author,  tho'  not  so  fully.   (16.) 

4 


^n  ARCIIAM'6  SCHOOLMASTER. 

man  goeth  about  a  more  godly  purpose,  than  lie  that  is  mindful 
of  the  good  bringing  up  both  of  his  own  and  other  men's  children." 

Therefore,  I  trust,  good  and  wise  men  will  think  well  of  this  my 
doing.  And  of  other,  that  think  otherwise,  I  will  think  myself,  they 
are  but  men,  to  be  pardoned  for  their  folly,  and  pitied  for  their  igno- 
rance. 

In  writing  this  book,  I  have  had  earnest  respect  to  three  special 
points,  truth  of  religion,  honesty  in  living,  right  order  in  learning. 
In  which  three  ways,  I  pray  God,  my  poor  children  may  diligently 
walk ;  for  whose  sake,  as  nature  moved,  and  reason  required,  and  ne- 
cessity also  somewhat  compelled,  I  was  the  willinger  to  take  these 
pains. 

For,  seeing  at  my  death,  I  am  not  like  to  leave  thera  any  great 
store  of  living,  therefore  in  my  life  time,  I  thought  good  to  bequeath 
unto  them,  in  this  little  book,  as  in  my  will  and  testament,  the  right 
way  to  good  learning :  which  if  they  follow,  with  the  fear  of  God, 
they  shall  very  well  come  to  sufficiency  of  living. 

I  wish  also,  with  all  my  heart,  that  young  Mr.  Robert  Sackville,'^  may 
take  that  fruit  of  this  labor,  that  his  worthy  grandfather  purposed  he 
should  have  done  :  and  if  any  other  do  take  either  profit  or  pleasure 
hereby,  they  have  cause  to  thank  Mr.  Robert  Sackville,  for  whom  spe- 
cially this  my  schoolmaster  was  provided. 

And  one  thing  I  would  have  the  reader  consider  in  reading  this 
book,  that  because  no  schoolmaster  hath  charge  of  any  child,  before 
he  enter  into  his  school ;  therefore  I  leaving  all  former  care,  of  their 
good  bringing  up,  to  wise  and  good  parents,  as  a  matter  not  belong- 
ing to  the  schoolmaster,  I  do  appoint  this  my  schoolmaster  then,  and 
there  to  begin,  where  his  office  and  charge  beginneth.  Which 
charge  lasteth  not  long,  but  until  the  scholar  be  made  able  to  go  to 
the  University,  to  proceed  in  logic,  rhetoric,  and  other  kinds  of 
learning. 

Yet  if  my  schoolmaster,  for  love  he  bearcth  to  his  scholar,  shall 
teach  him  somewhat  for  his  furtherance,  and  better  judgment  in  learn- 
ing, that  may  serve  him  seven  year  after  in  the  University,  he  doth 
his  scholar  no  more  wrong,  nor  deserveth  no  worse  name  thereby, 
than  he  doth  in  London,  who  selling  silk,  or  cloth,  unto  his  friend, 
doth  give  him  better  measure,  than  either  his  promise,  or  bargain 
was.  Farewell  in  Christ. 


ANNOTATIONS  ON  ASCIIAM'S  SCHOOLMASTER. 


ANNOTATIONS. 


51 


TuE  idea  of  the  Schoolmaster  originated  in  the  table-talk  of  a  company 
"of  wise  and  good  men,"  who  dined  together  in  the  chambers  of  Sir  William 
Cecil,  at  Windsor  Castle  on  the  10th  ot  December,  1563 ; — a  company  which 
Ascham  says,  "  coiild  hardly  then  be  picked  out  again  out  of  all  England  besides." 

(I.)  Sir  William  Cecil,  for  forty  years  Secretary  of  State  under  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, and  raised  to  the  peerage  by  the  title  of  Baron  of  Burleigh,  in  1571,  was 
bom  at  Bourn,  in  Lincolnshire,  September  13,  1520, — educated  at  the  grammar 
school  of  Grantham  and  Stamford,  at  St.  John's  College,  Cambridge,  and  at  Gray'a 
Inn,  London, — was  married  to  a  sister  of  Sir  John  Cheke,  in  1541,  and  on  her 
death  in  1 543,  to  a  daughter  of  Sir  Anthony  Cook  in  1545,  and  wa.s  largely  concern- 
ed in  the  public  affahs  of  his  country  and  age.  He  was  a  hard  student  in  early  life, 
a  thoughtful  reader  of  books,  as  well  as  observer  of  men,  wise  and  moderate  in  his 
political  measure.?,  and  never  unmindful  of  his  family  and  social  duties  in  his  anxioua 
labors  for  the  state.  Much  light  is  thrown  on  the  domestic  habits  of  Lord  Bur- 
leigli,  in  the  "Diary  of  a  Domestic" — or  "f/ie  Complete  Statesman"  as  it  is 
entitled  by  the  writer,  who  describes  liimself  as  having  "  lived  with  him  durint; 
the  last  twenty-five  years  of  his  life." 

"  His  kindness,  as  nature  ever  leads  all  men,  was  most  expressed  to  his  chil- 
dren ;  if  he  could  get  his  table  set  round  with  his  young  little  children,  he  was 
then  in  his  kingdom ;  and  it  was  an  exceeding  pleasure  to  hear  what  sport  lie 
would  make  with  them,  and  how  aptly  and  meiTily  he  would  talk  with  them, — 
witli  such  pretty  questions  and  witty  allurements,  as  much  delighted  himself,  tho 
children,  and  the  hearers.  *  *  He  had  his  own  children,  grand  children,  and 
great  grand  children,  ordinarily  at  his  table,  sitting  about  him  like  olive  brandies.  * 
*  He  was  of  spare  and  temperate  diet,  *  *  and  above  all  things,  what  busi- 
ness soever  was  in  his  head,  it  was  never  percieved  at  his  table,  where  he  would 
be  so  merry,  as  one  would  imagine  he  had  nothing  else  to  do;  directing  his 
speech  to  all  men  according  to  tlieir  qualities  and  capacities,  so  as  he  raised  mirth 
out  of  all  men's  speeches,  augmenting  it  with  his  own,  whereby  he  was  never  in 
want  of  company,  so  long  as  lie  was  able  to  keep  companj'.  *  *  His  recrea- 
tion was  chiefly'in  his  books,  wherewith  if  he  had  time,  he  was  more  delighted 
than  others  with  play  at  cards.  *  Books  were  so  pleasing  to  him,  as  when  ho 
got  liberty  from  the  queen  to  go  unto  his  countrj-  house  to  take  air,  if  lie  found 
but  a  book  worth  t!ie  opening,  ho  would  rather  lose  his  riding  than  his  reading. 
And  yet  riding  in  his  garden  and  walks,  upon  his  little  mule,  was  his  greatest 
disport.  But,  so  soon  as  he  came  in,  he  fell  to  liis  reading  again,  or  else  to  dis- 
patcliing  of  business.  *  *  *  His  favorite  book  was  Cicero's  Offices.  His 
kindness  of  nature  was  seen  in  his  declaration  that  he  entertained  malice  to- 
ward no  individual,  and  tlianked  God  that  he  never  retired  to  rest  cut  of  charily 
witli  any  man." 

While  appreciating  the  advantages  of  the  best  education,  and  striving  to  secure 
them  at  any  price  for  his  own  children,  Lord  Burleigh  deemed  "  human  learning, 
without  the  fear  of  God,  of  great  hurt  to  all  youth."  With  the  most  profound 
reverence  for  "  divine  and  moral  documents,"  his  "  Advices  to  his  son,  Robert 
Cecil,"  are  characterized  by  the  shrewdest  worldly  wisdom. 
Son  Roliert, 

Tlie  virtuous  inclinations  of  thy  matchless  mother,*  by  whose  tender  and  godly  caro 
t!iy  infancy  was  governed,  tOL'elher  with  thy  education  under  so  zealous  and  exccllonl 
a  tutor,  puts  me  in  rather  as.surance  than  hope  that  thou  art  not  ignorant  of  that  siim- 
Tr.wn  bonum  which  is  only  able  to  make  thee  happy  as  well  in  thy  death  as  in  thy  life  ;  I 

♦Lady  Burleigh,  was  one  of  live  daii^'liters  of  Sir  Aiitliony  Cook.  iir(cr|itor  of  Kdward  VI., 
a!l  of  whom  were  d.stin^'ui^lied  for  their  mental  acconiplislinieuiK,  and  for  tlieir  exemplary 
demeanor  as  mothers  of  faniiheK.  Her  death,  af>er  sharhig  his  foiUiiiis  i'>t  forlytliree  years, 
Lord  Burleigli  regarded  as  the  great  calamity  ni  his  life. 


52 


ANNOTATIONS  ON  ASCIIAMS  SCHOOLMASTER. 


mean  the  true  knowledge  and  worship  of  thy  Creator  and  Redoempr  ;  without  which  all 
other  things  are  vain  and  miserable.  So  that  thy  youth  being  guided  by  so  sufficient  a 
teacher,  I  make  no  doubt  that  he  will  furnish  thy  life  with  divine  and  moral  doctiments. 
Yet,  that  I  ni.ny  not  cast  off  the  care  beseeming  a  parent  toward  his  child,  or  that  thou 
stiouldest  have  cause  to  derive  thy  whole  felicity  and  welfare  rather  from  others  than 
from  whence  thou  receivedst  thy  breath  and  being,  I  think  it  fa  and  agreeable  to  the  af- 
fection 1  bare  thee,  to  help  thee  with  -such  rules  and  advertisements  for  the  squaring  o£ 
Ihy  life  as  are  rather  gained  by  experience  than  by  much  re;uliug.  To  the  end  that,  en- 
tering into  this  exorbitant  age,  thou  rnayest  be  the  better  prepared  to  shun  those  scan- 
d.ilous  courses  whoreunto  the  world,  and  the  lack  of  experience,  may  easily  draw  thee, 
nnd  because  I  will  not  confound  thy  memory,  I  have  reduced  them  into  ten  precepts ; 
and,  next  unto  Moses'  Tallies,  if  thou  imp.'-int  them  in  thy  mind,  thou  shalt  reap  the 
benefit,  and  I  the  content.     And  they  are  these  following:— 

I.  When  it  shall  please  God  to  bring  thee  to  man's  estate,  ose  great  providence  and. 
ciicumspection  in  choosing  thy  wife  ;  for  from  thence  will  spring  all  thy  future  good  or 
evil.  And  it  is  an  action  of  thy  life  like  unto  a  stratagem  of  war,  wherein  a  man  can 
err  but  once.  If  thy  estate  be  good,  match  near  home  and  at  leisure  ;  if  weak,  far  off 
and  quickly.  Inquire  diligently  of  her  disposition,  and  how  her  parents  have  been  in- 
clined in  their  youth.  Let  her  not  be  poor,  how  generous*  soever  ;  for  a  man  can  buy- 
nothing  in  the  market  with  gentility.  Nor  choose  a  base  and  uncomely  creature  alto- 
gether for  wealth  ;  for  it  will  cause  contempt  in  others  and  loathing  in  thee.  Neither 
make  a  choice  of  a  dwarf  or  a  fool  ;  for  by  the  one  thou  shalt  beget  a  race  of  pigmies; 
the  other  will  be  thy  continual  disgrace  ;  and  it  will  yirkef  thee  to  hear  her  talk.  For 
ihou  shalt  find  it  to  thy  great  grief,  that  there  is  nothing  more  fulsomcj  than  a  she-fool. 

And  touching  the  guiding  of  thy  house,  let  thy  hospitality  be  moderate,  and,  accor- 
ding to  the  means  of  thy  estate,  rather  plentiful  than  sparing,  but  not  costly  ;  for  I  nev- 
er knew  any  man  grow  poor  by  keeping  an  orderly  table.  But  some  consume  them- 
selves through  secret  vices,  and  their  hospitality  ueais  the  blame.  But  banish  swinish 
drunkards  out  of  thine  house,  which  is  a  vice  impairing  health,  consuming  much,  and 
makes  no  show.  I  never  heard  jiraise  ascribed  to  the  drunkard  but  the  well-bearing  his 
drink,  which  is  a  belter  commendation  for  a  brewer's  horse  or  a  drayman  than  for  ei- 
ther a  gentleman  or  a  serving  man.  Beware  thou  spend  not  above  three  or  four  parts 
of  thy  revenues,  nor  above  a  third  part  of  that  in  thy  house  ;  for  the  other  two  parts  will 
do  no  more  than  defray  thy  cxtraordinaries,  which  always  surmount  the  ordinary  b;^ 
much  ;  otherwise  thou  shalt  live,  like  a  rich  beggar,  in  continual  want.  And  the  needy 
man  can  never  live  happily  nor  contentedly;  for  every  disaster  makes  him  ready  to 
mortgage  or  sell.  And  that  gentleman  who  sells  an  acre  of  land  sells  an  ounce  of  cred- 
it ;  for  gentility  is  nothing  else  but  ancient  riches.  So  that,  if  the  foundation  shall  at 
any  time  sink,  the  building  must  needs  follow.     So  much  for  the  first  prcct-pt. 

II.  Bring  thy  children  up  in  learning  and  obedience,  yet  without  outward  austerity. 
Praise  ihcra  openly,  reprehend  them  secretly.  Give  tiiem  good  countenance,  and  con- 
venient maintenance,  according  to  thy  ability  ;  otherwise  tiiy  life  will  seem  their  bond- 
age, and  what  portion  thou  shalt  leave  them  at  thy  death  they  will  thank  death  for  it, 
and  not  thee.  And  I  am  persuaded  that  the  foolish  cockering^  of  some  parents,  and 
the  over-stern  carriage  of  others,  causeth  more  men  and  women  to  take  ill  courses  than 
their  own  vicious  inclinations.  Marry  thy  daughters  in  time  lest  they  marry  themselves 
And  suffer  not  thy  sons  to  pass  the  Alps  ;  for  they  shall  learn  nothing  but  pride,  bias 
phemy,  and  atheism  ||  And  if  by  travel  they  get  a  few  broken  languages,  that  shall 
profit  ihein  nothing  more  than  to  have  one  meat  served  in  divers  dishes.  Neither,  by 
my  consent,  shall  thou  train  ihcm  up  in  wars  ;  for  he  that  sets  up  his  rest  to  live  by 
I'.iat  profession  can  hardly  be  an  honest  man  or  a  good  christian.  Besides,  it  is  a  sci- 
ence no  longer  in  request  than  use.     For  soldiers  in  peace  are  like  chimneys  in  summer. 

III.  Live  not  in  the  country  without  corn  and  cattle  about  thee  ;  for  he  that  putteth 

•Well-boru.  t  Irk.  J  Disgusting.  §  Ovurindulgeuce. 

i  li',  this  strong  aversion  to  foreign  travel,  A:;cham  symj'-atLized. 


ANNOTATIONS  ON  ASCIIAMS  SCHOOLMASTER.  53 

his  lianJ  to  the  parse  for  every  expense  of  household,  is  lilie  hirn  that  keepcth  water 
in  a  sieve.  And  what  provision  liiou  shall  want,  learn  to  buy  it  at  the  best  hand  ;  for 
there  is  one  penny  saved  in  four  betwixt  Inlying  in  thy  need  and  when  tlie  markets  and 
seasons  serve  fittest  for  it.  Be  not  served  with  kinsmen,  or  friends,  or  men  intreated. 
to  stay  ;  for  they  expect  much,  and  do  little  ;  nor  with  such  as  are  amorous,  for  theic 
heads  are  intoxicated.  And  keep  rather  two  too  few,  than  one  too  many.  Feed  them 
well,  and  pay  them  with  the  most  ;  and  then  thou  mayest  boldly  require  service  at 
their  hands. 

IV.  Let  thy  kindred  and  allies  be  welcome  to  thy  house  and  talilc.  Grace  them 
with  thy  countenance,  and  further  Ihem  in  all  honest  actions  ;  for,  by  this  means,  thou 
shall  so  double  the  band  of  nature,  as  thou  shall  find  them  so  many  advocates  to  plead 
an  apology  for  thee  behind  thy  ijack.  But  shake  off  those  glow-worms,  1  mean  para- 
sites and  sycophants,  who  will  feed  and  fawn  upon  thee  in  the  summer  of  prosperity  ; 
but,  in  an  adverse  storm,  they  will  shelter  thee  no  more  than  an  arbor  in  winter. 

V.  Beware  of  suretyship  for  thy  best  friends.  He  that  payelh  another  man's  debt 
seeketh  his  own  decay.  But  if  thou  canst  not  otherwise  choose,  rather  lend  thy  money 
thyself  upon  good  bonds,  although  thou  borrow  it.  So  shall  thou  secure  thyself,  an  J 
pleasure  thy  friend.  Neither  borrow  money  of  a  neighl)or  or  a  friend,  but  of  a  stranger  ; 
where  j)aying  for  it,  thou  shall  hear  no  more  of  it.  Otherwise  thou  shall  eclipse  thy 
credit,  lose  thy  freedom,  and  yet  pay  as  dear  as  to  another.  But  in  borrowing  oF 
money  be  precious  of  thy  word  ;  for  he  that  hath  care  of  keeping  days  of  payment  is 
lord  of  another  man's  jiurse. 

VI.  Undertake  no  suit  against  a  pogr  man  with  receiving*  much  wrong  ;  for  besides 
that  tliou  raakest  him  thy  compeer,  it  is  a  base  conquest  to  triumph  where  there  is  small 
resistance.  Neither  attempt  law  against  any  man  before  thou  be  fully  resolved  that 
thou  hast  right  on  thy  side  ;  and  then  spare  not  for  either  money  or  pains  ;  for  a  cause 
or  two  so  followed  and  obtained  will  free  thee  from  suits  a  great  part  of  thy  life. 

VII.  Be  sure  to  keep  sonic  great  man  thy  friend,  but  trouble  him  not  for  trifles- 
Compliment  him  often  with  many,  yet  small  gifts,  and  of  little  charge.  And  if  thou 
hast  cause  to  bestow  any  great  gratuity,  let  it  be  something  which  may  be  daily  in  sight: 
otherwise,  in  this  ambitious  age,  thou  shall  remain  like  a  hop  without  a  pole,  liveia 
oljscurity,  and  be  made  a  foot-ball  for  every  insulting  companion  to  spurn  at. 

VIII.  Toward  thy  superiors  be  humble,  yet  generous. t  With  thine  equals  fami'inr 
yet  respective.  Toward  thine  inferiors  show  much  humanity,  and  some  familiarity  : 
es  to  bow  the  body,  stretch  forth  the  hand,  and  to  uncover  the  head  ;  with  such  like 
jiopulai  comi)liments.  The  first  prepares  thy  way  to  advancement, — the  second  makes 
tliee  known  for  a  man  well  bred, — the  third  gains  a  good  report;  which,  once  got,  is 
easily  kept.  For  right  humanity  lakes  such  deep  root  in  the  minds  of  the  multitude, 
rs  ihey  are  more  easily  pained  by  unprofitable  curtesies  than  by  churlish  ijenefits.  Yt  t 
]  advise  thee  not  to  affect,  or  neglect,  popularity  too  much.  Seek  not  to  be  Essex : 
Bliun  to  lie  Raleigh  () 

IX.  Trust  not  any  man  with  thy  life,  credit  or  estate.  For  it  is  mere  folly  for  a  mnit 
1o  enthral  himself  to  his  friend,  as  though  occasion  being  offered,  he  should  not  darf? 
1(1  become  an  enemy. 

X.  Be  not  scurrilous  in  conversation,  nor  satirical  in  thy  jests.  The  one  will  mako 
thee  unwelcome  to  all  company  ;  the  other  pull  on  quarrels,  and  get  the  haired  of  thy 
liesl  friends  For  suspicious  jests,  when  any  of  them  savor  of  truth,  leave  a  biiternes.s 
of  mind  of  those  which  are  touched.  And,  allieil  I  have  already  pointed  at  this  inclu- 
sively, yet  I  think  it  necessary  to  leave  it  to  thee  as  a  special  caution  ;  l)ecause  I  have 
sr<  n  many  so  prone  to  quip  and  gird, J  as  they  would  rather  lose  their  friend  than  their 
jest  And  if  perchance  their  boiling  brain  yield  a  quaint  scoff,  they  will  travel  to  be 
delivered  of  it  as  a  woman  with  child.     These  nimble  fancies  are  but  the  froth  of  w  it." 


*  Tliougti  you  receive.  t  Not  mean.  t  Mock  and  libe. 

§  Ei-fex  was  the   idol  of  the  people,  his  rival,  Raleigh,   their  aversion,  till  liis  undeserved 
misforlunee  attracted  tlieir  compassion,  and  his  heroism  their  applause. 


54 


ANNOTATIONS  ON  ASCHAM'S  SCHOOLMASTER. 


(2.)  Sir  "WaLiAM  Peter,  (or  Petre.) — born  at  Exeter,  and  educated  at  Exe- 
ter College,  Cambridge, — employed  in  visitation  of  the  monasteries,  obtained 
grants  of  many  Abbey  lands,  was  knighted  and  made  secretary  of  state  under 
Henry  VIII.,  and  died  in  1572.  He  was  a  liberal  benefactor  to  Exeter  and  All 
Soul's  College. 

(3.)  Sir  John  Mason  was  born  of  obscure  parents  in  Abingdon,  but  re- 
ceived a  good  education  from  his  uncle,  a  monk  of  Abingdon  Abbey,  and  at  All 
Soul's  College,  and  in  consequence  rose  to  important  offices  under  Henry  VIII., 
Edward  IV.,  Queens  Mary  and  Elizabeth.  He  was  chancellor  of  the  university 
of  Oxford  at  the  time  of  his  death.  His  maxim  was,  "DO,  and  say  Nothing." 
He  endowed  liberally  a  hospital  at  Abingdon. 

(4.)  Nicholas  "Wotton,  Doctor  of  Laws,  and  Dean  of  Canterbury,  was  a 
man  of  great  abilities,  and  an  intimate  friend  of  Lord  Burleigh,  and  employed  by 
him  in  many  important  embassies  to  foreign  princes,  and  was  privy  counselor 
to  Henry  VIII.,  Edward  VI.,  and  Queens  Mary  and  Elizabeth, — secretary  of 
state  to  Edward  VI.,  and  declined  the  offer  of  being  made  Archbishop  of  Canter- 
bury by  Queen  Elizabeth.  He  died  poor,  when  so  many  public  men  became  rich 
in  sequestration  of  abbey  property. 

(5.)  Sir  Robert  Sackville,  "  although  not  himself  a  scholar,  was  a  lover  of . 
learning,  and  all  learned  men;"  and  in  his  descendants,  for  many  generations,  the 
office  of  patron  seemed  hereditary.  The  name  of  his  grandson,  Charles,  Earl  of 
Dorset  comes  down  to  us  loaded  with  the  panegyrics  of  poets  and  artists  whom 
he  befriended.  Prior's  dedication  to  his  son,  is  one  of  the  most  elegant  panegyr- 
ics in  the  English  language,  and  Pope's  Epitaph  will  make  Dorset  longer  remem- 
bered than  all  of  his  own  writings. 

(6.)  Walter  Mildmat  was  educated  at  Christ  College,  Cambridge,  of  which 
he  afteward  became  a  benefactor.  He  was  knighted  by  Edward  VI.,  and  made 
chancellor  of  the  exchequer  in  1556  by  Elizabeth.  He  was  a  man  of  learning, 
and  an  encourager  of  learning.  He  founded  Emanuel  College,  Cambridge, 
where  many  of  the  early  Puritan  divines  of  New  England,  Hooker,  Stone, 
Davenport  and  others,  were  educated.  Of  his  benefactions  to  this  college,  he 
said  to  Queen  Ehzabeth,  who  was  suspicious  of  the  puritan  tendencies  of  some 
of  the  professors,  "  I  have  set  an  acorn,  which,  when  it  becomes  an  oak,  God 
only  knows  what  will  be  the  fruit  thereof" 

The  fruit  borne  by  this  college  was  far  from  being  acceptable  to  the  church 
party  in  King  James'  reign.  In  the  song  of  the  "  Mad  Puritan,"  written  by  the 
witty  Bishop  Corbet  the  hero  sings : 

"In  the  house  of  pure  Emanuel 
1  had  my  Education, 
Where  some  surmise,  I  dazzled  my  eyes 
With  the  light  of  revelation. 
Bravely  I  preach 
Hate  cross,  hate  surplice, 
Mitres,  copes  and  rochets. 
Come,  hear  me  pray 
Nine  times  a  day, 
And  fill  your  heads  vrith  crotchets." 

(7.)  "Walter  Hadden,  who  became  Master  of  Requests  under  Queen  Eliza- 
beth, Judge  of  the  Prerogative  Court  of  Canterbury,  and  Commissioner  at  the 
royal  visitation  of  the  University  of  Cambridge,  was  bom  in  Buckinghamshire, 
in   1516,  was  educated  at  Eton,  and  King's  College,  Cambridge,  where  he  waa 


ANNOTATIONS  ON  ASCHAM'S  SCHOOLMASTER.  55 

professor  of  rhetoric  and  oratory',  and,  at  one  time,  master  of  Trinity  College. 
He  stood  amongst  the  foremost  as  a  Latin  scholar,  and  Queen  Elizabeth,  when  ask- 
ed which  she  preferred,  Hadden  or  Buchanan,  rephed — "  Buchananum  omnibus 
antepono;  Haddonum,  nemini  postpone."  He  was  the  principal  compiler  of 
the  "Reformatio  Legum  Ecclesiasticarum."     He  died  in  1572. 

(8.)  Mr.  John  Astelt,  or  Asterly,  Master  of  the  Jewel  House,  was  the 
author  of  a  treatise  on  Eiding,  entitled — "  Tlie  Art  of  Riding,  set  forth  in  a 
Briefe,  with  a  due  Interpretation  of  certain  places,  alledged  out  of  Zenophon  and 
Gryson,  very  expert  and  excellent  Horsemen :  wherein  also  the  trtie  use  of  the  Hand 
by  the  said  Gryson^ s  Rules  and  Precepts  is  shown."     1584. 

(9.)  Mr.  Bernard  Hampton  was  educated  at  Cambridge,  and  clerk  of  the 
Privy  Council. 

(10.)  M.  XiCAsrus  was  a  Greek  of  Constantinople,  who  visited  England  in 
the  time  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  partly  to  promote  a  union  between  the  Greek 
Church  and  the  Church  of  England,  and  partly  to  collect  what  charity  he  could 
for  the  distressed  Christians  of  his  own  country. 

(1 1.)  Roger  Ascham,  in  respect  to  scholarship,  knowledge  of  the  world,  and 
conversational  talent,  was  second  to  no  one  in  the  goodly  company  of  eminent 
:and  learned  men  assembled  that  day  in  the  chambers  of  Sir  William  Cecil. 

(12.)  Beating  was  early  recognized  as  an  essential  part  of  an  English  insti- 
tution of  learning,  and  neither  prince  or  pew  was  spared  the  salutary  infliction 
of  the  rod.  Ardibishop  Anselm  protested  against  its  use  in  1070,  as  calculated 
to  "  convert  men  into  brutes,"  and,  in  the  "  Paston  Letters,"  Mrs.  Agnes  Paston 
instructs  Mr.  Greenfield,  tutor  of  her  son,  "to  truly  belash  him  until  he  will 
amend."  In  the  same  curious  collection  will  be  found  the  articles  by  which  the 
Earl  of  Warwick,  when  he  took  charge  of  Henry  VL,  binds  the  Earl  of  Glou- 
cester and  the  Council  to  stand  by  him  "  in  chastising  him,  (the  young  king,) 
in  his  defaults,"  although  he  should  "  in  conceit  of  his  high  and  royal  authority  " 
"  loathe  the  chastening."     "We  shall  have  more  to  say  on  this  topic  hereafter. 

(13.)  Sir  Thomas  SxnxH,  for  a  time  Provost  of  Eton  College,  and  university 
orator  at  Cambridge,  was  born  in  1514,  and  educated  at  Queen's  College,  and 
cooperated  with  Sir  John  Cheke  in  introducing  the  pronunciation  of  Greek,  as 
advocated  by  Erasmus.  He  was  author  of  a  treatise  on  a  reformation  of  the 
spelling  of  the  English  languge,  entitled  "  De  recta  et  emendata  lingua  AnglicoR 
Scripturce."  In  1548  he  was  advanced  to  the  ofiQce  of  secretary  of  state,  and 
knighted.  In  1578  he  was  the  author  of  an  act  of  Parliament,  by  which  the 
Universities  of  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  and  the  two  colleges  of  Eton  and  Win- 
chester, were  authorized  to  require  in  their  leases  that  a  third  part  of  the  old 
rent  should  be  paid  in  kind ;  a  quarter  of  wheat  for  each  6s.  8d,  or  a  quarter  of 
malt  for  every  5s;  or  that  the  lessee  should  pay  for  the  same  according  to  the 
price  that  wheat  and  malt  should  be  sold  for,  in  the  market  next  adjoining  to 
the  respective  colleges,  on  the  market  day  before  the  rent  comes  due. 

(14.)  Sir  John  Cheke,  whom  Ascham  characterizes  as  "one  of  the  best 
scholars  "  and  "  the  conningest  masters  of  his  time,"  was  born  in  Cambridge  in 
1514,  was  educated  at  St.  John's  College,  which  he  afterward,  as  professor,  as- 
sisted to  build  up  to  be  the  chief  seat  of  learning,  especially  in  Greek,  and 
where  he  trained  such  scholars  as  Cecil,  Ascham,  lladden.  Bill,  &c.;  was  en- 
trusted with  the  education  of  Prince  Edward,  by  whom,  when  he  became  King, 
he  was  knighted,  made  Privy  Councilor,  and  one  of  his  Secretaries  of  State ; 


5Q  ANNOTATIONS  ON  ASCIIAM'S  SCHOOLMASTER. 

served  in  several  educational  and  ecclesiastical  commissions ;  promoted  the  ap- 
pointment of  good  men  to  office ;  became  involved  in  the  civil  and  theological 
troubles  of  his  times;  and  died  in  1557,  at  an  ago  when  his  country  had  most  to 
expect  from  his  learning  and  experience.  lie  was  a  great  promoter  of  the  study 
of  Greek,  and  its  correct  pronunciation,  and  labored  with  his  friend,  Sir  Thomas 
Smith  to  give  prominence  to  the  Saxon  elerrtent  in  the  English  language,  and  to 
rid  its  orthography  of  many  of  its  anomalies.  For  this  purpose  he  made  a  new 
translation  of  the  Gospel  of  St.  Matthew,  in  which  he  strove  to  use  only 
English  Saxon  words.     See  Strype's  Life  of  Sir  J.  Cheke. 

(15.)  John  Sturm,  or  Sturmius,  was  bom  at  Sclileiden,  near  Cologne, 
was  educated  at  Liege,  Louvain  and  Paris,  and  for  forty-five  years  was  rector 
of  the  gymnasium  and  college  at  Strasburg,  which  he  established  and  made  the 
best  classical  school  in  Europe.  He  was  much  consulted  in  the  drafting  of 
Bchool-codes,  and  in  the  organization  of  gymnasia^  and  his  "  Plan  for  organizing 
institutions  of  learning,"  his  "Classic  Letters,"  addressed  to  the  teachers  of  hia 
own  school,  and  his  editions  of  classic  authors,  entitle  him  to  a  prominent  place 
in  tlie  history  of  "  Pedagogics."  Raumer,  in  his  "  History  of  the  Science  and  Art 
of  Teaching,"  devotes  a  chapter  to   StuHrm's  system  of  education. 

(IG.)  Theages  is  not  considered  by  many  scholars  worthy  of  Plato,  and  its 
authorship  is  attributed  to  Antipater,  the  teacher  of  Panietius,  and  the  discipla 
of  Diogenes  of  Babylon. 

Theages  desired  "  to  become  a  wise  man,"  to  the  great  trouble  of  his^  father, 
Demodocus,  who  resorts  to  Socrates  for  counsel.  Socrates  replies  in  the  lan- 
guage of  the  proverb,  applied  to  those  who  came  to  counsel  the  oracles 
"  Counsel,  Demodocus,  is  said  to  he  a  sacred  thing  f^  and  then  adds,  "  If  then  any 
other  consultation  is  sacred,  this  is  so,  about  which  you  are  now  considering.  For 
there  is  not  a  thing,  about  which  a  person  may  consult,  more  divine  than  about  the 
instruction  of  himself  and  of  those  related  to  him."  After  probing  the  young  man 
by  questions,  Socrates  concludes  to  receive  him  into  his  companionship. 

(17.)  Plato  in  the  Dialogues  on  the  Republic,  exhibits  the  misery  of  man  let 
loose  from  law,  and  a  general  plan  for  making  him  subject  to  law,  as  the  sure  way 
of  perfecting  liis  nature.  In  the  seventh  dialogue,  from  which  Ascham  quotes, 
Plato  unfolds  the  province  of  a  good  early  education,  in  turning  the  eyes  of  the 
mind  from  the  darkness  and  uncertainty  of  popular  opinion,  to  the  clear  light  of 
truth,  and  points  out  some  of  the  uses  of  mathematics  and  gymnastics,  in 
quickening  and  enlarging  the  apprehension,  and  inuring  to  intense  application. 
In  this  connection  he  asserts : 

'■'Every  thing  then  relating  to  arithmetic  and  geometry,  and  all  the  previoiis  in- 
struction which  they  should  receive  before  they  learn  dialectics,  ought  to  be  set  before 
them  while  they  are  children,  and  on  such  a  plan  of  teaching,  that  they  may  leai-n 
without  compuhion.  Why  so  f  Became,  said  J,  a  free  man  ought  to  acquire  no 
training  under  slavery ;  for  the  labors  of  the  body  when  endured  through  compul- 
sion do  not  at  aU  deteriorate  the  body ;  but  for  the  soul,  it  can  endure  no  compukory 
discipline.  True,  said  he.  Do  not  then,  said  I,  my  best  of  friends,  force  boys  to  their 
learning ;  but  train  them  up  by  amusement,  that  you  may  be  better  able  to  discern 
the  character  of  each  one's  genius." 

This,  too,  was  the  doctrine  of  Quintilian,  in  Inst.  Lib.  1.  c.  1,  20: — Nam  id  in 
primis  cavere  oportobit,  ne  studia,  qui  amare  nondum  potest,  odcrit  et  amaritu- 
dinem  semel  perceptam  etiam  ultra  rudes  annos  reformidet. 


THE   SCHOOLMASTER. 

[Abstract  of  the  First  Book  of  Ascham's  Sclioolmaster.J 


BOOK   I.    THE   BRIXGING    DP   OF    YOUTH. 

The  title  of  the  first  book  of  the  Schoolmaster  describes  it  as  "  Teaching  the 
Bringing  up  of  Youth;"  and  it  may  be  said  to  treat  of  the  general  principles 
according  to  which  the  education  of  children  at  school  ought  to  be  conducted. 
Much  of  it  has,  hosvever,  a  particular  reference  to  what  was  then,  as  it  is  still, 
in  England,  the  usual  commencement  of  a  liberal  education,  the  study  of  the 
Latin  tongue, — a  subject  which  is  exhaustively  treated  in  the  second  book  and 
wUl  be  omitted  in  this  abstract  of  the  first. 

The  author  then  proceeds  to  the  proper  subject  of  this  portion  of  his  work, 
the  general  manner  and  temper  in  which  the  instruction  of  youth  ought  to  be 
conducted ; — 

"  If  j-our  scholar  do  miss  sometimes,  in  marking  rightly  these  foresaid  six 
things,  chide  not  hastilj^  j  for  that  shall  both  dull  his  wit,  and  discourage  his 
diligence ;  but  mouish  him  gently,  which  shall  make  him  both  willing  to  amend 
and  glad  to  go  forward  in  love,  and  hope  of  learning. 

I  have  now  wished  twice  or  thrice  this  gentle  nature  to  be  in  a  schoolmaster. 
And  that  I  have  done  so,  neither  by  chance  nor  without  some  reason,  I  will 
uow  declare  at  large  why  in  mine  opinion  love  is  fitter  than  fear,  gentleness 
better  than  beating,  to  bring  up  a  child  rightly  in  learning. 

"With  the  common  use  of  teaching,  and  beating  in  common  schools  of 
England,  I  will  not  greatly  contend;  which  if  I  did,  it  were  but  a  small  gram- 
matical controversy,  neither  belonging  to  heresy  nor  treason,  nor  greatly  touch- 
ing God  nor  the  prince,  although  in  very  deed,  in  the  end,  the  good  or  ill 
bringing  up  of  children,  dotlf  as  much  serve  to  tlie  good  or  ill  service  of  God, 
our  Prince,  and  our  whole  country,  as  any  one  thing  doth  beside. 

I  do  gladly  agree  with  all  good  schoolmasters  in  these  points;  to  have  children 
brought  to  good  perfectncss  in  learning,  to  all  honestj'  in  manners ;  to  have  all 
faults  rightly  amended;  to  have  every  vice  severely  corrected.  But  for  the 
order  and  way  that  leadeth  rightly  to  these  points,  we  somewhat  differ ;  for 
commonly  many  schoolmasters,  some  as  I  have  seen,  more  as  I  have  heard  tell, 
be  of  so  crooked  a  nature,  as  when  they  meet  with  a  hard-witted  scholar,  they 
rather  break  him  than  bow  him,  rather  mar  him  than  mend  him.  For  when 
the  schoolmaster  is  angry  with  some  other  matter,  then  will  he  soonest  fall  to 
beat  his  scholar ;  and  though  he  himself  should  be  punished  for  his  foll\-,  yet 
must  he  beat  some  scholar  for  his  pleasure,  though  there  be  no  cause  for  him  to 
do  so,  nor  yet  fault  in  the  scholar  to  deserve  so. 

These,  ye  will  say,  be  fond  schoolmasters,  and  few  they  be,  that  be  found  to 
be  such.  They  be  fond,  indeed,  but  surely  over  many  such  bo  found  every 
where.     But  this  will  I  say,  that  even  the  wisest  of  your  great  beaters  do  as 


58 


ASCIIA.M-S  SCHOOLiMASTER. 


oft  punisli  nature,  as  they  do  correct  faults.  Tea,  many  times  the  bettor  nature 
is  sorer  punished.  For,  if  ono  by  quickness  of  wit  take  his  lesson  readily, 
another  by  hardness  of  wit  taketh  it  not  so  speedily ;  the  first  is  always  com- 
mended; the  other  is  commonly  punished :  when  a  wise  schoolmaster  should 
rather  discreetly  consider  the  right  disposition  of  both  their  natures,  and  not  so 
much  weigh  what  either  of  them  is  able  to  do  now,  as  what  either  of  them  is 
likely  to  do  hereafter.  For  this  I  know,  not  only  by  reading  of  books  in  my 
study,  but  also  by  experience  of  life  abroad  in  the  world,  that  those  which  be  com- 
monly the  wisest,  the  best  learned,  and  best  men  also,  when  they  be  old,  were 
never  commonly  the  quickest  of  wit  when  they  were  young.  The  causes  why, 
amongst  other,  which  be  many,  that  move  me  thus  to  think,  bo  these  few  which 
1  will  reckon. 

Quick  wits  commonly  be  apt  to  take,  unapt  to  keep ;  soon  hot,  acid  desirous 
of  tliis  and  that ;  as  soon  cold,  and  weary  of  the  same  again ;  more  quick  to 
enter  speedily,  than  able  to  pierce  far ;  even  like  our  sharp  tools,  whose  edges 
be  very  soon  turned.  Such  wits  delight  themselves  in  easy  and  pleasant  studies, 
and  never  pass  far  forward  in  high  and  hard  sciences.  And  therefore  the 
quickest  wits  commonly  may  prove  the  best  poets,  but  not  the  wisest  orators : 
ready  of  tongue  to  speak  boldy,  not  deep  of  judgment,  either  for  good  counsel, 
or  wise  writing.  Also  for  manners  and  life,  quick  wits  commonly  be,  in  desire, 
new-fangled ;  in  purpose,  unconstant,  light  to  promise  anything,  ready  to  forget 
everything,  both  benefit  and  injury;  and  thereby  neither  fast  to  friend,  nor 
fearful  to  foe;  inquisitive  of  every  trifle,  not  secret  in  the  greatest  aSiurs;  bold 
with  any  person ;  busy  in  every  matter ;  soothing  such  as  be  present,  nipping 
any  that  is  absent ;  of  nature  also  always  flattering  their  betters,  envying  their 
equals,  despising  their  inferiors ;  and  by  quickness  of  wit,  very  quick  and  ready 
to  like  none  so  well  as  themselves. 

Moreover,  commonly,  men  very  quick  of  wit  be  also  very  light  of  conditions; 
and  thereby  very  ready  of  disposition  to  be  carried  over  quickly  by  any  light 
company  to  any  riot  and  uutlirifiiness  when  they  be  young;  and  therefore 
seldom  either  honest  of  life,  or  rich  in  living  when  they  be  old.  For  quick  in 
wit,  and  light  in  manners,  be  either  seldom  troubled,  or  very  soon  weary  in 
carrj-ing  a  very  heavy  purse.  Quick  wits  also  be  in  most  part  of  all  their  doings 
over  quick,  hasty,  rash,  heady,  and  brainsick.  These  two  last  words,  heady  and 
brainsick;  be  fit  and  proper  words,  rising  naturally  of  the  matter,  and  termed 
aptly  by  the  condition  of  over-much  quickness  of  wit.  In  youth  also  they  be 
ready  scoffers,  privy  mockers,  and  ever  over  light  and  merry ;  in  age,  soon  testy, 
very  waspish,  and  always  over  miserable.  And  yet  few  of  them  come  to  any 
great  age,  by  reason  of  their  misordered  life  when  they  were  young ;  but  a 
great  deal  fewer  of  them  come  to  show  any  great  countenance,  or  bear  any 
great  authority  abroad  in  the  world ;  but  either  live  obscurely,  men  know  not 
how,  or  die  obscurely,  men  mark  not  when. 

They  be  like  trees,  that  show  forth  fair  blossom  and  broad  leaves  in  springs 
time,  but  bring  out  small  and  not  long-lasting  fruit  in  harvest  time;  and  that 
only  such  as  fall  and  rot  before  they  be  ripe,  and  so  never  or  seldom  come  to 
any  good  at  all.  For  this  you  shall  find  most  true  by  experience,  that  amongst 
a  number  of  quick  wits  in  youth,  few  be  found  in  the  end  either  very  fortunate 
for  themselves,  or  very  profitable  to  serve  the  commonwealth,  but  decay  and 
vanish,  men  know  not  which  way ;  except  a  very  few,  to  whom  peradventure 
blood  and  happy  parentage  may  perchance  purchase  a  long  standing  upon  the 


ASCIIAM'S  SCHOOLMASTER.  59 

stage.  The  which  felicity,  because  it  cometh  by  others'  procuring,  not  by  their 
own  deserving,  and  stands  by  other  men's  feet,  and  not  by  their  own,  what 
outward  brag  soever  is  borne  by  them,  ia  indeed  of  itself,  and  in  wise  men's 
eyes,  of  no  great  estimation." 

The  author  here  gives  it  as  his  opinion,  that  there  are  certain  sciences  by  the 
over-much  study  and  use  of  which  "  some  wits,  moderate  enough  by  nature,  be 
many  times  marred."  The  sciences  against  which  he  thus  warns  moderate  wits 
are  music  (in  which  he  is  said  to  have  been  himself  a  proficient,)  arithmetic,  and 
geometry."  "Tliese  sciences,"  he  says,  "as  they  sharpen  men's  wits  overmuch, 
80  they  change  men's  manners  over  sore,  if  they  bo  not  moderately  mingled, 
and  wisely  applied  to  some  good  use  of  life.  Mark  all  mathematical  heads, 
which  be  only  and  wholly  bent  to  those  sciences,  how  solitary  they  be  them- 
selves, how  unfit  to  live  with  others,  and  how  unapt  to  serve  in  the  world." 
In  support  of  this  notion  he  quotes  Galen,  Plato,  and  Cicero,  as  all  condemning 
much  music,  on  the  ground  that  it  "marreth  men's  manners;"  and  he  refers  to 
what  he  had  himself  written  .more  at  large  on  the  matter,  twenty  years  ago,  in 
liis  Book  of  Shooting.  The  passage  in  the  Toxophilus  is  curious  as  giving  the 
grounds  on  which  Ascham  appears  to  have  taken  up  these  opinions.  He  there 
observes  that  "lutes,  harps,  barbitons,  sambukes,  with  other  instruments,  every 
one  which  standeth  by  fine  and  quick  fingering,  be  condemned  of  Aristotle,  as 
not  to  be  brought  in  and  used  among  them  which  study  for  learning  and  virtue." 
Music,  he  thinks,  doth  to  a  man's  mind,  "  as  honey  doth  to  a  man's  stomach, 
which  at  first  receiveth  it  well,  but  afterward  it  maketh  it  unfit  to  abide  any 
strong  nourishing  meat,  or  else  any  wholesome,  sharp,  and  quick  drink.  And 
even  so  in  a  manner  these  instruments  make  a  man's  wit  so  soft  and  smooth,  so 
tender  and  quaisy,  that  they  be  less  able  to  brook  strong  and  tough  study. 
Wits  be  not  sharpened,  but  rather  dulled,  and  made  blunt  with  such  sweet 
softness,  even  as  good  edges  be  blunted,  which  men  whet  upon  soft  chalk 
stones." 

In  the  present  work  he  contends,  generally,  that  "overmuch  quickness  of 
wit,  either  given  by  nature,  or  sharpened  by  study,  doth  not  commonly  bring 
forth  either  greatest  learning,  best  manners,  or  happiest  life  in  the  end."  The 
sense  in  which  he  makes  this  proposition,  as  well  as  the  reasons  by  which  he 
defends  it,  will  be  understood  from  the  passage  that  follows: — 

"  Contrarywise,  a  wit  in  youth  that  is  not  over  dull,  heavy,  knotty,  and 
lumpish ;  but  hard,  tough,  and  though  somewhat  staffish,  (as  Tully  wisheth 
otium  quiduin  non  languidum,  and  negoiium  cum  lahore,  non  cum  2)ericulo,)*  such 
a  wit,  I  say,  if  it  be  at  the  first  well  handled  by  the  mother,  and  rightly 
smoothed  and  wrought  as  it  should,  not  overthwartly  and  against  the  wood  by 
the  schoolmaster,  both  for  learning  and  whole  course  of  living,  proveth  always 
the  best.  In  wood  and  stone,  not  the  softest,  but  hardest,  be  always  aptest  for 
portraiture,  both  fairest  for  pleasure,  and  most  durable  for  profit.  Hard  wits  be 
hard  to  receive,  but  sure  to  keep ;  painful  without  weariness,  heedful  without 
wavering,  constant  without  newflmgleness ;  bearing  heavy  things,  though  not 
lightly,  yet  willingly;  entering  hard  thing.s,  though  not  easily,  yet  deeply;  and 
so  come  to  that  pcrfectness  of  learning  in  the  end,  that  quick  wits  seem  in  hope, 
but  do  not  in  deed,  or  else  very  seldom,  ever  attain  unto. 

"  t.  e.  Leisure  wliicli  is  quiet,  but  not  languid  ;  and  business  attended  with  exertion,  but 
not  with  danger. 


go  ASCHAM'S  SCHOOLMASTER. 

Also  for  manners  and  life,  hard  wits  commonly  are  hardly  carried,  either  to 
desire  every  new  thing,  or  else  to  marvel  at  every  strange  thing.  And  therefore 
they  be  careful  and  diligent  in  their  own  matters,  not  curious  and  busy  in  other 
men's  affairs ;  and  so  they  become  wise  themselves,  and  also  are  counted  honest 
by  others.  They  be  gr^ve,  steadfast,  silent  of  tongue,  secret  of  heart ;  not 
hasty  in  making,  but  constant  in  l<ecping  any  promise;  not  rash  in  uttering,  but 
wary  in  considering  every  matter ;  and  thereby  not  quiclt  in  speaking,  but  deep 
of  judgment,  whether  they  write  or  give  counsel  in  all  weighty  affairs.  And 
these  be  the  men  that  become  in  the  end  both  most  happy  for  themselves,  and 
also  always  best  esteemed  abroad  in  the  world. 

I  have  been  longer  in  describing  the  nature,  the  good  or  ill  success  of  the 
quick  and  hard  wits,  than  percliance  some  will  think  this  place  and  matter  doth 
require.  But  my  purpose  was  hereby  plainly  to  utter  what  injury  is  offered  to 
all  learning,  and  to  the  commonwealth  also,  first  by  the  fond  father  in  choosing, 
but  chiefly  by  the  lewd*  schoolmaster  in  beating  and  driving  away  the  best 
natures  from  learning.  A  child  that  is  still,  silent,  constant,  and  somewhat 
hard  of  wit,  is  either  never  chosen  by  tlie  father  to  be  made  a  scholar,  or  else 
when  he  cometh  to  the  school,  he  is  smally  regarded,  little  looked  unto ;  he 
laeketh  teaching,  he  lacketh  encouraging,  he  lacketh  all  things ;  only  he  never 
lacketh  beating,  nor  any  word  that  may  move  him  to  hate  learning,  nor  any 
deed  that  may  drive  him  from  learning  to  any  other  kmd  of  living. 

And  when  this  sad-natured,  and  hard-witted  child  is  beat  from  his  book,  and 
becometh  after  either  student  of  the  common  law,  or  page  in  the  court,  or 
serving-man,  or  bound  prentice  to  a  merchant,  or  to  some  handicraft,  he  proveth 
in  the  end  wiser,  happier,  and  many  times  honester  too,  than  many  of  these 
quick  wits  do  by  their  learning. 

Learning  is  both  hindered  and  injured  too  by  the  ill  choice  of  them  that  scud 
young  seliolars  to  the  universities,  of  whom  must  needs  come  all  our  divines, 
lawyers,  and  physicians. 

These  young  scholars  be  chosen  commonly,  as  young  apples  bo  chosen  by 
children  in  a  fair  garden,  about  St.  James  tide.  A  child  will  choose  a  sweeting, 
because  it  is  presently  fair  and  pleasant,  and  refuse  a  runnet,  because  it  is  then 
green,  hard,  and  sour ;  when  the  one,  if  it  be  eaten,  doth  breed  both  worms  and 
ill  humors;  the  other,  if  it  stand  his  time,  be  ordered  and  kept  as  it  should,  is 
wholesome  of  itself]  and  helpeth  to  the  good  digestion  of  other  meats.  Sweet- 
ings will  receive  worms,  rot,  and  die  on  the  tree,  and  never  or  seldom  come  to 
the  gathering  for  good  and  lasting  store. 

For  very  grief  of  heart  I  will  not  apply  the  similitude ;  but  hereby  is  plainly 
seen,  how  learning  is  robbed  of  the  best  wits,  first,  by  the  great  beating,  and 
after  by  the  ill-choosing  of  scholars  to  go  to  the  universities :  whereof  cometh 
partly  that  lewd  and  spiteful  proverb,  sounding  to  the  great  hurt  of  learning, 
and  shame  of  learned  men,  that  '  the  greatest  clerks  be  not  the  wisest  men.' 

And  though  I,  in  all  this  discourse,  seem  plainly  to  prefer  hard  and  rough  wits, 
before  quick  and  hght  wits,  both  for  learning  and  manners ;  yet  I  am  not  ignorant 
that  some  quickness  of  wit  is  a  singular  gift  of  God,  and  so  most  rare  among  mbn : 
and,  namely,  such  a  wit  as  is  quick  without  lightness,  sharp  without  brittlcncss, 
desirous  of  good  things  without  newfangleness,  diligent  in  painful  things  without 
wearisomeness,  and  constant  in  good  will  to  do  all  things  well;  as  1  know  was 

•  ».  e.  The  intemperdte. 


ASCHAM  S  SCHOOLMASTER.  gj 

in  Sir  John  Choke,  and  is  in  some  that  yot  hve,  in  whom  all  these  fair  quahties 
of  wit  are  fully  met  tDgether. 

But  it  is  notable  and  true,  that  Socrates  saith  in  Plato  to  his  friend  Phredo, 
'  That  that  number  of  men  is  fewest,  which  far  exceed,  either  in  good  or  ill,  in 
■wisdom  or  folly;  but  the  mean  betwixt  both  be  the  greatest  number.'  Which 
he  proveth  true  in  divers  other  things ;  as  in  greyhounds,  amongst  which  few 
are  found  exceeding  great,  or  exceeding  little,  exceeding  swift,  or  exceeding 
slow.  And,  therefore,  speaking  of  quick  and  hard  wits,  I  meant  the  common 
number  of  quick  and  hard  wits;  amongst  the  which,  for  the  most  part,  the  hard 
wit  proveth  many  times  the  better  learned,  wiser,  and  honester  man.  And 
therefore  do  I  the  more  lament  that  such  wits  commonly  be  either  kept  from 
learning  by  fond  fathers,  or  beat  from  learning  by  lewd  schoolmasters." 

The  author  proceeds  to  say  that  he  might  here  declare  "  the  most  special 
notes  of  a  good  wit  for  learning  in  a  child,  after  the  manner  and  custom  of  a 
good  horseman,  who  is  skiUful  to  know,  and  able  to  teU  others,  how  by  certain 
sure  signs  a  man  may  choose  a  colt  that  is  hke  to  prove  another  day  excellent 
for  the  saddle."  "And  it  is  a  pity,"  he  adds,  with  keen  and  indignant  sarcasm, 
"  that  commonly  more  care  is  had,  yea  and  that  among  very  wise  men,  to  find 
out  rather  a  cunning  man  for  their  horse,  than  a  cunning  man  for  their  children. 
They  say  nay  in  a  word,  but  they  do  so  in  deed ;  for  to  the  one  they  will  gladly 
give  a  stipend  of  two  hundred  crowns  by  the  year,  and  loth  to  offer  to  the  other 
two  hundred  shilHngs.  God  that  sitteth  in  heaven  laugheth  their  choice  to 
scorn,  and  rowardeth  their  liberality  as  it  should.  For  he  suffereth  them  to 
have  tame  and  well-ordered  horses,  but  wild  and  unfortunate  children;  and 
therefore  in  the  end  they  find  'more  pleasure  in  their  horses,  than  comfort  in 
their  children." 

Instead,  however,  of  giving  his  own  opinion  as  to  the  true  marks  of  promise 
in  a  child,  he  prefers  reporting  "  the  judgment  of  him  that  was  counted  the  best 
teacher  and  wisest  man  that  learning  maketh  mention  of,"  namely  Socrates,  as 
his  words  are  recorded  by  Plato,  in  the  seventh  book  of  his  Repubhc.  From 
what  Socrates  says,  he  extracts  ''seven  true  notes  of  a  good  wit,"  which  he 
explains  in  succession. 

"First,  the  child  must  be  'Eu^tijjr,  that  is,  "apt  bygoodness  of  wit,  and  appli- 
able  by  readiness  of  will,  to  learning,  having  all  other  qualities  of  the  mind  and 
parts  of  the  body,  that  must  another  day  serve  learning."  Among  sudi 
qualifications,  Ascham  lays  great  stress  upon  a  comely  countenance  and  a 
goodly  stature;  and  he  laments  that  fathers,  when  out  of  several  sons  they 
have  one  that  is  lame  or  deformed,  are  too  apt  to  put  that  one  to  learning,  "as 
good  enough  to  become  a  scholar."  lie  hints  that  the  civil  magistrate  ought  to 
interfere  to  prevent  this  abuse. 

Secondly,  the  child  ought  to  be  Uvniiuv,  which  ho  introprcts  "good  for  mem- 
ory." This  he  says  is  "so  principal  a  note,  as  without  it  all  other  gifts  of  nature 
do  small  service  to  learning."  "And  though,"  he  adds,  "it  be  the  mere  gift  of 
nature,  yet  is  memory  well  preserved  by  use,  and  much  increased  by  order,  as  our 
scholar  must  learn  another  day  in  the  University.  But  in  a  child  a  good 
memory  is  well  known  by  three  properties ;  that  is,  if  it  be  quick  in  receiving, 
sure  in  keeping,  and  ready  in  delivering  forth  again." 

The  third  note  is  that  he  bo  *jXo/ia0^j,  that  is,  "given  to  love  learning,  for 
though  a  child  have  all  the  gifts  of  nature  at  wish,  and  perfection  of  memory 


g2  ASrilAM  S  SCHOOLMASTER. 

at  will,  yet  if  he  have  not  a  special  love  to  learning  he  shall  never  attain  to 
much  learning."  "Isocrates,"  he  adds,  "did  cause  to  be  written  at  the  entry  of 
his  school  in  golden  letters  this  golden  sentence,  'Eav  fie  ^iXo^a9^5  £^'7  iTu\v[ta6fis ; 
which  excellently  said  in  Greek,  is  thus  nidely  in  English:  "If  thou  love 
learning,  thou  shalt  attain  to  much  learning." 

Fourthly,  the  child  should  be  <}>t\6rrovor,  that  is,  should  have  "  a  lust  to  labor, 
and  a  will  to  take  pains ;  for  if  a  child  have  all  the  benefits  of  nature,  with 
perfection  of  memory,  love,  life,  and  praise  learning  never  so  much ;  yet  if  he 
be  not  of  himself  painful,  he  shall  never  attain  unto  it.  And  yet  where  love  is 
present,  labor  is  seldom  absent,  and  namely  in  study  of  learning,  and  matter  of 
the  mind. 

Fifthly,  he  mu.st  bo  *t'>/j/coor,  that  is,  "glad  to  hear  and  learn  of  another;  for 
otherwise  he  shall  stick  with  great  trouble,  where  he  might  go  easUy  forward ; 
and  also  catch  hardly  a  very  little  by  his  own  toil,  when  he  might  gatbei 
quickly  a  good  deal  by  another  man's  teaching." 

The  sixth  mark  is  that  he  be  ZrirririKds,  that  is,  "naturally  bold  to  ask  any 
question,  desirous  to  search  out  any  doubt;  not  ashamed  to  learn  of  the  mean- 
est, nor  afraid  to  go  to  the  greatest,  until  he  be  perfectly  taught  and  fully 
satisfied." 

Lastly,  the  author  (employing,  however,  a  word  which  is  not  in  Plato) 
enumerates  as  one  of  the  characteristics  demanded  in  the  child  by  Socrates, 
that  he  be  <l>iX£7raiyoj,  that  is,  one  "  that  loveth  to  be  praised  for  well  doing  at 
his  father  or  master's  hand." 

"And  thus,"  he  concludes,  "by  Socrates' judgment,  a  good  father  and  a  wise 
schoolmaster  should  choose  a  child  to  make  a  scholar  of,  that  hath  by  nature 
the  foresaid  perfect  qualities  and  comely  furniture  both  of  mind  and  body ;  hath 
memory  quick  to  receive,  svu"e  to  keep  and  ready  to  deliver;  hath  love  to 
learning;  hath  lust  to  labor;  hath  desire  to  learn  of  others;  hath  boldness  to 
ask  any  question ;  hath  mind  wholly.bent  to  win  praise  by  well  doing.  The 
two  first  of  these  qualities  he  considers  to  be  special  benefits  of  nature,  yet  to 
be  preserved  and  much  increased  by  discipline.  The  five  last  are  to  be  wholly 
won  and  maintained  by  the  wisdom  and  discretion  of  the  schoolmaster. 
"Which  five  points,"  he  proceeds,  "whether  a  schoolmaster  shall  work  sooner 
in  a  child  by  fearful  beating,  or  courteous  handling,  you  that  be  wise,  judge. 

Tet  some  men,  wise  indeed,  but,  in  this  matter,  more  by  severity  of  nature 
than  any  wisdom  at  all,  do  laugh  at  us  when  we  thus  wish  and  reason,  that 
young  children  should  rather  be  allured  to  learning  by  gentleness  and  love, 
than  compelled  to  learning  by  beating  and  fear.  They  say,  "our  reasons  serve 
only  to  breed  forth  talk,  and  pass  away  the  time ;  but  wo  never  saw  good 
schoolmasters  do  so,  nor  never  read  of  wise  men  that  thought  so." 

In  opposition  to  this  doctrine,  Ascham  quotes  from  Plato  the  precept  of  So- 
crates, that  no  learning  ought  to  be  learnt  with  bondage.  "  And  why  ?"  ho 
adds  of  himself,  "For  whatsoever  the  mind  doth  learn  unwillingly  with  fear, 
the  same  it  doth  gladly  forget  without  care."  He  goes  on  to  show  that  it  is 
expressly  of  the  teaching  of  children  that  Socrates  in  the  passage  quoted  speaks. 
He  then  proceeds  as  follows : 

"Fond  schoolmasters  neither  can  understand,  nor  will  follow  this  good 
counsel  of  Socrates;  but  wise  riders  in  their  office  can,  and  will  do  both;  which 
is  the  only  cause  that  commonly  the  young  gentlemen  of  England  go  so  unwil- 


ASCHAM'S  SCHOOLMASTER. 


63 


lingly  to  school,  and  run  so  fast  to  the  stable.  For  in  very  deed,  fond  school- 
masters by  fear  do  beat  into  them  the  hatred  for  learning;  and  wise  riders,  by 
gentle  allurements,  do  breed  up  in  them  the  love  of  riding.  They  find  fear  and 
bondage  in  schools,  they  feel  liberty  and  freedom  in  stables;  which  causes 
them  utterly  to  ablior  the  one,  and  most  gladly  to  haunt  the  other.  And  I  do 
not  write  this,  that  in  exhorting  to  the  one,  I  would  dissuade  young  gentlemen 
from  the  other:  yea  I  am  sorry  with  all  my  heart  that  they  be  given  no  more 
to  riding  than  they  be.  For  of  all  outward  qualities,  to  ride  fair  is  most  comely 
for  himself,  most  necessary  for  his  country ;  and  the  greater  he  is  in  blood,  the 
greater  is  his  praise,  the  more  he  doth  exceed  aU  other  therein.  It  was  one  of 
the  three  excellent  praises  amongst  the  noble  gentlemen,  the  old  Persians: 
'Always  to  say  truth,  to  ride  fair,  and  shoot  well;'  and  so  it  was  engraven  upon 
Darius'  tomb,  as  Strabo  witnesseth: — 

Darius  the  king  lielh  buried  here, 

Who  in  riding  and  shooting  had  never  peer.-' 

He  next  takes  up  an  objection  which  may  be  brought  against  his  argument : 

"  Yet  some  will  say  that  children  of  nature  love  pastime,  and  mislike  learning, 
because  in  their  kind  the  one  is  easy  and  pleasant,  the  other  hard  and  weari- 
some. "Which  is  an  opinion  not  so  true  as  some  men  ween.  For  the  matter 
lieth  not  so  much  in  the  disposition  of  them  that  be  young,  as  in  the  order  and 
manner  of  bringing  up'  by  them  that  be  old ;  nor  yet  in  the  difference  of 
learnmg  and  pastime.  For  beat  a  child  if  he  dance  not  well,  and  cherish  him 
though  he  learn  not  well,  ye  shall  have  him  unwilling  to  go  to  dance,  and  glad 
to  go  to  his  book ;  knock  him  always  when  he  draweth  his  shaft  ill,  and  favor  him 
again  though  he  fault  at  his  book,  ye  shall  have  him  very  loth  to  be  in  the  field, 
and  very  willing  to  go  to  school.  Yea,  I  say  more,  and  not  of  myself,  but  by 
the  judgment  of  those,  from  whom  few  wise  men  will  gladly  dissent, — that  if 
ever  the  nature  of  man  be  given  at  "any  time,  more  than  other,  to  receive 
goodness,  it  is  in  innocency  of  young  years,  before  that  experience  of  evil 
haven  taken  root  in  him.  For  the  pure  clean  wit  of  a  sweet  young  babe  is  like 
the  newest  wax,  most  able  to  receive  the  best  and  fairest  printing ;  and  like  a 
new  bright  silver  dish  never  occupied,  to  receive  and  keep  clean  any  good  thing 
that  is  put  into  it." 

Some  further  illustration  follows  of  the  facility  with  which  impressions, 
whether  good  or  evil,  may  be  made  upon  the  youthful  mind ;  and  then  comes  a 
passage  too  interesting  not  to  be  given  in  full : — 

"And  one  example,  whether  love  or  fear  doth  work  more  in  a  child  for  virtue 
and  learning,  I  will  gladly  report,  which  may  be  heard  with  some  pleasure,  and 
followed  with  more  profit. 

Before  I  went  into  Germany,  I  came  to  Brodegate  in  Leicestershire,  to  take 
my  leave  of  that  noble  Lady  Jane  Grey,  to  whom  I  was  exceeding  much 
beholden.  Her  parents,  the  Duke  and  Duchess,  with  all  the  household,  gentle- 
men and  gentlewomen,  were  hunting  in  the  park.  I  found  her  in  her  chamber 
reading  'Phasdo  Platonis,'  in  Greek,  and  that  with  as  much  delight  as  somo 
gentlemen  would  read  a  merry  tale  in  Boccace.  After  salutation  and  duty 
done,  with  some  other  talk,  I  asked  her  why  she  would  lose  such  pastime  in 
the  park  ?  Smiling,  she  answered  me :  '  I  wist,  all  their  sport  in  the  park  is 
but  a  shadow  to  that  pleasure  that  I  find  in  Plato.     Alas!  good  folk,  they 


64  ASCHAM  S  SCHOOLMASTER. 

never  felt  what  true  pleasure  meant.'  '  And  how  came  you,  Madam,'  quoth  I, 
'  to  this  deep  knowledge  of  pleasure  ?  And  what  did  chiefly  allure  you  unto  it, 
seeing  not  many  women,  but  very  few  men,  have  attained  thereunto  ?'  '  I  will 
tell  you,'  quoth  she,  'and  tell  you  a  truth  which  perchance  ye  will  marvel  at. 
One  of  the  greatest  benefits  that  ever  God  gave  me,  is  that  he  sent  me  so  sharp 
and  severest  parents,  and  so  gentle  a  schoolmaster.  For  when  I  am  in  pre- 
sence either  father  or  mother,  whether  I  speak,  keep  silence,  sit,  stand,  or  go, 
eat,  drink,  be  merry,  or  sad,  bo  sewing,  playing,  dancing,  or  doing  anything 
else,  I  must  do  it,  as  it  were,  in  such  weight,  measure,  and  number,  even  so 
perfectly,  as  God  made  the  world ;  or  else  I  am  so  sharply  taunted,  so  cruelly 
threatened,  yea  presently  sometimes  with  pinches,  nips,  and  bobs,  and  other 
ways  (which  I  will  not  name  for  the  honor  I  bear  them,)  so  without  measure 
misordered,  that  I  think  myself  in  hell,  till  time  come  that  I  must  go  to  Mr. 
Elmer,  who  teacheth  me  so  gently,  so  pleasantly,  with  such  fair  allurements  to 
learaing,  that  I  think  all  the  time  nothing  while  I  am  with  him.  And  when  I 
am  called  from  him,  I  fall  on  weeping,  because  whatsoever  I  do  else,  but 
learning,  is  full  of  grief,  trouble,  fear,  and  whole  misliking  unto  me.  And  thus 
my  book  hath  been  so  much  my  pleasure,  and  bringeth  daily  to  me  more  plea- 
sure and  more,  that  in  respect  of  it  all  other  pleasures  in  very  deed  be  but 
trifles  and  troubles  unto  me.' 

I  remember  this  talk  gladly,  both  because  it  is  so  worthy  of  memory,  and 
because  also  it  was  the  last  talk  that  ever  I  had,  and  the  last  time  that  ever  I 
saw  that  noble  and  worthy  lady." 

For  a  perfect  discussion  of  this  part  of  his  subject,  Aschara  refers  the  reader 
to  the  treatise  "De  Institutione  Principis,"  (On  the  Education  of  a  Prince)  ad- 
dressed by  his  friend  John  Sturmius  to  the  Duke  of  Cleves.  Although,  how- 
ever, he  is  fur  the  use  of  gentleness  rather  than  severity  in  the  instruction  of 
youth  at  school,  he  does  not  dispute  the  necessity  of  sharp  chastisement  by 
parents  for  correcting  vicious  habits  in  their  children. 

I'his  discipline  was  well  known  and  diUigently  used  among  the  Grecians 
and  old  Romans ;  as  doth  appear  in  Aristophanes,  Isocrates,  and  Plato,  and 
also  in  the  commedies  of  Plautus ;  where  we  see  that  chOdren  were  under  the 
rule  of  three  persons,  a  schoolmaster,  governor,  and  father.  The  schoolmaster 
taught  him  learning  with  all  gentleness;  the  governor  corrected  his  manners 
with  much  sharpness ;  the  father  held  the  stern  of  his  whole  obedience.  And 
so  he  that  used  to  teach  did  not  commonly  use  to  beat,  but  remitted  that  over 
to  another  man's  charge.  But  what  shall  we  say,  when  now  in  our  days  the 
schoolmaster  is  used  both  for  preceptor  in  learning,  and  psedagogus  in  man- . 
ners  ?  Surely,  I  would  he  should  not  confound  their  oflices,  but  discreetly  use 
the  duty  of  both,  so  that  neither  ill  touches  should  be  left  unpunished,  nor 
gentleness  in  teaching  anywise  omitted.  And  he  shall  well  do  both,  if  wisely 
he  do  appoint  diversity  of  time,  and  separate  place,  for  either  purpose ;  usmg 
always  such  discreet  moderation,  as  'the  school-house  should  be  counted  a 
sanctuary  against  fear ;  and  very  well  learning  a  common  pardon  for  ill  doing, 
if  the  fault  of  itself  be  not  over  heinous.'  " 

The  author  considers  the  second  great  fault  of  English  education  in  his  time 
to  be  the  license  that  was  allowed  to  young  men  after  ^leaving  school.  He 
contrasts  with  the  prevailing  manners,  the  more  strict  discipline  of  wise 
antiquity,  when,  for  instance,  "no  son,  were  he  never  so  old  in  year.-J,  never  so 
great  in  birth,  though  ho  were  a  king's  son,  might  marry  but  by  his  father's 


ASCIIAMS  SCHOOLMASTER  65 

and  mother's  consent."  Having  quoted  to  this  effect  the  examples  of  Cyrus 
and  Sampson,  he  exclaims;  "Doth  this  modesty,  doth  this  obedience  that  was 
in  great  King  Cyrus,  and  strong  Sampson,  remain  in  our  young  men  at  this 
day  ?  No  surely,  for  we  live  not  longer  after  them  by  time,  than  we  live  far 
diflerent  from  them  by  good  order.  Our  time  is  so  far  from  that  old  discipline 
and  obedience,  as  now  not  only  young  gentlemen,  but  even  very  girls,  dare 
without  all  fear,  though  not  without  open  shame,  where  they  list,  and  how  they 
list,  marry  themselves  in  -spite  of  father,  mother,  God,  good  order,  and  all." 
This  evU  he  says,  is  peculiar  to  the  children  of  the  rich  and  great,  as  they 
deserve  it  should  be.  From  seven  to  seventeen,  young  gentlemen  are  carefuUy 
enough  brought  up ;  but  from  seventeen  to  seven-and-tweuty  (which  Xenophon 
calls  the  most  dangerous  time  of  all  man's  life,  and  most  shppery  to  stay  well 
in,)  "they  have  commonly  the  rein  of  aU  hcense  in  their  own  hand,  and 
specially  such  as  do  Uve  in  the  court."  "And  that,"  he  adds,  "  which  is  most 
to  be  marvelled  at,  commonly  the  wisest,  and  also  best  men,  be  found  the 
fondest  fathers  in  this  behalf.  And  if  some  good  father  will  seek  some  remedy 
herein,  yet  the  mother  (if  the  household  of  our  lady)  had  rather,  yea,  and  will 
Lave  her  son  cunning  and  bold,  in  making  him  to  live  trimly,  when  he  is  young, 
than  by  learnmg  and  travel  to  be  able  to  serve  his  prince  and  his  country,  both 
wisely  in  peace,  and  stoutly  in  war,  when  he  is  old." 

"The  fault  is  in  yourselves,  ye  noblemen's  sons,  and  therefore  ye  deserve  the 
greater  blame,  that  commonly  the  meaner  men's  children  come  to  be  the  wisest 
counsellers,  and  greatest  doers  in  the  weighty  affairs  of  this  realm.  And  why? 
for  God  wiU  have  it  so  of  his  providence,  because  you  will  have  it  no  otherwise 
by  your  negligence. 

And  God  is  a  good  God,  and  wisest  in  all  his  doings,  that  will  place  virtue, 
and  displace  vice  in  those  kingdoms  where  he  doth  govern.  '  For  he  knoweth 
that  nobility,  without  virtue  and  wisdom,  is  blood  indeed,  but  blood  truly 
without  bones  and  sinews;  and  so  of  itself,  without  the  other,  very  weak  to 
bear  the  burthen  of  weighty  affairs.' 

The  greatest  ship  indeed  commonly  carrieth  the  greatest  burthen,  but  yet 
always  with  the  greatest  jeopardy,  not  only  for  the  persons  and  goods  com- 
mitted unto  it,  but  even  for  the  ship  itself,  except  it  be  governed  with  the 
greater  wisdom. 

But  nobility,  governed  by  learning  and  wisdom,  is  indeed  most  like  a  fair 
ship,  having  tide  and  wind  at  will,  under  the  rule  of  a  skillful  master;  when 
contrarywise,  a  ship  carried,  yea  with  the  highest  tide  and  greatest  wind,  lacking 
a  skillful  master,  most  commonly  doth  either  sink  itself  upon  sands,  or  break 
itself  upon  rocks.  And  even  so,  how  many  have  been  either  drowned  in  vain 
pleasure,  or  overwhelmed  by  stout  willfulness,  the  histories  of  England  be  able 
to  afford  over  many  examples  unto  us.  Therefore,  ye  great  and  noblemen's 
children,  if  ye  will  have  rightly  that  praise,  and  enjoy  surely  that  place,  which 
your  fathers  have,  and  elders  had,  and  left  unto  you,  ye  must  keep  it,  as  they 
gat  it ;  and  that  is,  by  the  only  wa}'  of  virtue,  wisdom,  and  worthiness." 

In  some  passages  that  follow,  the  manners  of  the  court,  and  the  habits  of 
thinking  and  judging  that  prevailed  there,  are  very  severely  reprobated.  There 
were  then,  indeed,  the  author  allows,  many  fair  examples  in  the  English  court 
for  young  gentlemen  to  follow  ;  "but  they  be,"  he  says,  "like  fair  marks  in  the 
field,  out  of  a  man's  reach,  too  far  ofl'  to  shoot  at  well."     Young  gentlemen 

5 


QQ  A8CHAMS  SCHOOLMASTER. 

who  come  to  court  are  commonly  obliged  to  associate  with  the  worst  des- 
cription of  characters  there.  These  are  they  who  laugh  at  quietness  of  nature 
as  simploness  and  lack  of  wit,  and  at  bashful  and  blushing  modesty  as  babyish- 
ness  and  ill-breeding.  "What  is  learned  from  their  company  is,  first,  to  bluah 
at  nothing;  "then  followeth  to  dare  do  any  mischief;  to  contemn  stoutly  any 
goodness;  to  be  busy  in  every  matter;  to  he  skillful  in  every  thing;  to 
acknowledge  no  ignorance  at  all."  " Moreover, "  he  continues,  "where  the 
swing  goeth,  there  to  follow,  fawn,  flatter,  laugh,  and  lie  lustily  at  other  men's 
liking ;  to  face,  stand  foremost,  shove  back ;  and  to  the  meaner  man,  or  un- 
known in  the  court,  to  seem  somewhat  solemn,  coy,  big,  and  dangerous  of  look, 
talk,  and  answer;  to  think  well  of  himself,  to  be  lusty  in  contemning  of  others, 
to  have  some  trim  grace  in  a  privy  mock :  and,  in  greater  presence,  to  bear  a 
brave  look ;  to  be  warhke,  though  he  never  looked  enemy  in  the  face  in  war ; 
yet  some  warlike  sign  must  be  used,  either  a  slovenly  buskin,  or  an  over-staring 
frounced  head,  as  though  out  of  every  hair's  top  should  suddenly  start  out  a 
good  big  oath  when  need  requireth.  Yet,  praised  be  God  1  England  hath  at 
tliis  time  many  worthy  captains  and  good  soldiers,  which  be  indeed  so  honest 
of  behavior,  so  comely  of  conditions,  so  mild  of  manners,  as  they  may  be 
examples  of  good  order  to  a  good  sort  of  others,  which  never  came  in  war." 

Something,  he  considers,  may  be  done  to  remedy  these  evils  by  good  laws ; 
but  the  object  is  perhaps  chiefly  to  be  effected  by  "  observing  private  discipline, 
every  man  carefully  in  liis  own  house ;  and  namely,  if  special  regard  be  had  to 
youth,  and  that  not  so  much  in  teaching  them  what  is  good,  as  in  keeping  them 
from  that  that  is  ill."  "In  youth,"  he  says,  "some  ignorance  is  as  necessary 
as  much  knowledge;"  "but  this  ignorance  in  youth,"  he  adds,  "which  1  speak 
on,  or  rather  this  simplicity,  or  most  truly  this  innocency,  is  that  which  the 
noble  Persians,  as  wise  Xenophon  doth  testify,  were  so  careful  to  breed  up  their 
youth  in.     But  Christian  fathers  commonly  do  not  so. 

"And  to  know  what  worthy  fruit  did  spring  of  such  worthy  seed,  I  will  tell 
you  the  most  marvel  of. all,  and  yet  such  a  truth  as  no  man  shall  deny  it,  ex- 
cept such  as  be  ignorant  in  knowledge  of  the  best  stories. 

Athens,  by  this  discipline  and  good  ordering  of  youth,  did  breed  up,  within 
the  circuit  of  that  one  city,  within  the  compass  of  one  hundred  years,  within 
the  memory  of  one  man's  life,  so  many  notable  captains  in  war,  for  worthiness, 
wisdom,  and  learning,  as  be  scarce  matchable,  no,  not  in  the  state  of  Rome,  in 
the  compass  of  those  seven  hundred  years  wjien  it  flourished  most. 

And  because  I  will  not  only  say  it,  but  also  prove  it,  the  names  of  them  be 
these — Miltiades,  Themistocles,  Xantippus,  Pericles,  Cimon,  Alcibiades,  Thrasy- 
bulus,  Conon,  Iphicrates,  Xenophon,  Timotheus,  Theopompus,  Demetrius,  and 
divers  others  more;  of  which  every  one  may  justly  be  spoken  that  worthy 
praise  which  was  given  to  Scipio  Africanus,  who  Cicero  doubteth  '  whether  he 
were  more  noble  captain  in  war,  or  more  eloquent  and  wise  counsellor  in  peace.' 
And  if  ye  beheve  not  me,  read  dilligently  JEmilius  Probus*  in  Latin,  and 
Plutarch  in  Greek,  which  two  had  no  cause  either  to  flatter  or  lie  upon  any  of 
those  which  I  have  recited. 

And  beside  nobility  in  war,  for  excellent  and  matcirless  masters  in  all  manner 
of  learning,  in  that  one  city,  in  memory  of  one  age,  were  more  learned  men, 
and  that  in  a  manner  altogether,  than  all  time  doth  remember,  than  all  place 

•  lie  means  the  lives  now  commonly  liekl  to  be  written  by  Cornelius  Nepos. 


ASCHAM  S  SCHOOLMASTER. 


67 


doth  afford,  than  all  other  tongues  do  contain.  And  I  do  not  mean  of  those 
authors  which  by  injury  of  time,  by  negligence  of  men,  by  cruelty  of  tire  and 
sword,  be  lost,  but  even  of  those  which  by  God's  grace  are  left  yet  unto  us,  of 
which,  I  thank  God,  even  my  poor  study  lacketh  not  one.  As  in  philosophy, 
Plato,  Aristotle,  Xenophon,  Euclid,  and  Theophrast;  in  eloquence  and  civil 
law,  Demosthenes,  ^schines,  Lycurgus,  Dinarchus,  Demades,  Isocrates,  Isajus, 
Lysias,  Antisthenes,  Andocides;  in  History,  Herodotus,  Thucydides,  Xenophon, 
and  which  we  lack,  to  our  great  loss,  Theopompus  and  Ephorus ;  in  poetry, 
yEschylus,  Sophocles,  Euripides,  Aristophanes,  and  somewhat  of  Monander 
Demosthenes'  sister's  son. 

The  remembrance  of  such  a  commonwealth,  using  such  discii^line  and  order 
for  youth,  and  thereby  bringing  forth  to  their  praise,  and  leaving  to  us  for  our 
example,  such  captains  for  war,  suoh  counsellors  for  peace,  and  matchless 
masters  for  all  kind  nf  learning,  is  pleasant  for  me  to  recite,  and  not  irksome,  I 
trust,  for  others  to  hear,  except  it  be  such  as  make  neither  account  of  vu'tue 
nor  learning. 

And  whether  there  be  any  such  or  no,  I  cannot  well  tell ;  yet  I  hear  say, 
some  young  gentlemen  of  ours  count  it  their  shame  to  be  counted  learned,  and 
perchance  they  count  it  their  shame  to  be  counted  honest  also,  for  I  hear  say 
they  meddle  as  little  with  the  one  as  with  the  other.  A  marvellous  case,  that 
gentlemen  should  be  so  ashamed  of  good  learning,  and  never  a  whit  ashamed 
of  ill  manners !  Such  do  say  for  them,  that  the  gentlemen  of  France  do  so ; 
which  is  a  lie,  as  God  wiU  have  it.  Langseus  and  Bellteus,  that  be  dead,  and 
the  noble  Vidam  of  Chartres,  that  is  alive,  and  infinite  more  in  France  which  I 
hear  tell  of,  prove  this  to  be  most  false.  And  though  some  in  France,  which 
will  needs  be  gentlemen,  whether  men  wUl  or  no,  and  have  more  gentleship  in 
their  hat  than  in  their  head,  be  at  deadly  feud  with  both  learning  and  honesty ; 
yet  I  believe,  if  that  noble  prince,  King  Francis  the  First,  were  alive,  they 
should  have  neither  place  in  his  court  nor  pension  in  his  wars,  if  he  had  know- 
ledge of  them.  This  opinion  is  not  French,  but  plain  Turkish,  from  whence 
some  French  fetch  more  faults  than  this,  which  I  pray  God  keep  out  of  Eng- 
land, and  send  also  those  of  ours  better  minds,  which  bend  themselves  against 
virtue  and  learning,  to  the  contempt  of  God,  dishonor  of  their  country,  to  tho 
hurt  of  many  others,  and  at  length  to  the  greatest  harm  and  utter  destruction 
of  themselves. 

Some  others,  having  better  nature,  but  less  wit  (for  ill  commonly  have  over- 
much wit,)  do  not  utterly  dispraise  learning,  but  they  say,  that,  without 
learning,  common  experience,  knowledge  of  all  fashions,  and  haunting  all 
companies,  shall  work  in  youth  both  wisdom  and  ability  to  execute  any  weighty 
affair.  Surely  long  experience  doth  profit  much,  but  most,  and  almost  only  to 
him  (if  we  mean  honest  affairs)  that  is  dilligently  before  instructed  with  precepts 
of  well-doing.  For  good  precepts  of  learning  be  the  eyes  of  the  mind,  to  look 
wisely  before  a  man  which  way  to  go  right,  and  which  not. 

Learning  teacheth  more  in  one  year  than  experience  in  twenty ;  and  learning 
toacheth  safely,  when  experience  maketh  more  miserable  than  wise.  Ho 
hazardeth  sore  that  waxeth  wise  by  experience.  An  unhappy  master  is  ho 
that  is  made  cunning  by  many  shipwrecks;  a  miserable  merchant,  that  is 
neither  rich  nor  wise  but  after  some  bankrouts.  It  is  costly  wisdom  that  is 
bought  by  experience.  We  know  by  experience  itself,  that  it  is  a  marvellous 
pain  to  find  out  a  short  way  but  Ijy  long  wandering;  and  surely  he  that  would 


68  ASCHAM'S  SCIIOOLMASTEE. 

prove  wise  by  expcrieuce,  he  may  be  witty  indeed,  but  even  like  a  swift  runner, 
that  runneth  fast  out  of  the  way,  and  upon  the  night,  he  knowcth  not  whither. 
And  verily  they  be  fewest  in  number  that  be  wise  by  unlearned  experience. 
And  look  well  upon  the  former  life  of  those  few,  whether  your  example  be  old 
or  young,  who,  without  learning,  have  gathered  by  long  experience  a  little 
wisdom  and  some  happiness ;  and  when  you  do  consider  what  mischief  they 
have  committed,  what  dangers  they  have  escaped  (and  yet  twenty  for  one  do 
perish  in  the  adventure.)  then  think  well  with  yourself  whether  ye  would  that 
your  own  son  should  come  to  wisdom  and  happiness  by  the  way  of  such  expe- 
rience or  no. 

It  is  a  notable  tale,  that  old  Sir  Roger  Chamloe,  some  time  Chief-Justice, 
would  tell  of  himself.  "When  he  was  Ancient  in  inn  of  court,  certain  young 
gentlemen  were  brought  before  him,  to  be  corrected  for  certain  misorders;  and 
one  of  the  lustiest  said,  'Sir,  we  be  young  gentlemen;  and  wise  men  before  ua 
have  proved  all  fashions,  and  yet  those  have  done  full  well.'  This  tliey  said, 
because  it  was  well  known  that  Sir  Roger  had  been  a  goodfellow  in  his  youth. 
But  he  answered  them  very  wisely.  'Indeed,'  saith  he,  'in  youth  I  was  as  you 
are  now;  and  I  had  twelve  fellows  like  unto  myself,  but  not  one  of  tliera  came 
to  a  good  end.  And  therefore,  follow  not  my  example  in  youth,  but  follow  my 
counsel  in  age,  if  ever  ye  think  to  come  to  this  place  or  to  these  years  that  I 
am  come  unto,  lest  ye  meet  either  with  poverty  or  Tyburn  in  the  way.' " 

Although  thus  jealous,  however,  of  the  effects  of  teaching  by  experience, 
and  earnestly  in  favor  of  tlie  method  of  at  least  laj-ing  the  foundations  of 
knowledge  in  the  young  mind  chiefly  by  learning  and  good  bringing  up, 
Ascham  would  by  no  means  have  the  whole  time  of  youth  to  be  spent  in 
study. 

"  I  do  not  mean,  by  all  this  my  talk,  that  young  gentlemen  should  always  be 
poring  on  a  book,  and  by  using  good  studies  should  lose  honest  pleasure,  and 
haunt  no  good  pastime ;  I  mean  nothing  less.  For  it  is  well  known  that  I  both 
like  and  love,  and  have  always,  and  do  yet  still  use  all  exercises  and  pastimes 
that  be  fit  for  my  nature  and  ability.  And  beside  natural  disposition,  in  judg- 
ment also  I  was  never  either  Stoic  in  doctrine  or  Anabaptist  in  religion,  to 
mislike  a  nierrj^,  pleasant,  and  playful  nature,  if  no  outrage  be  committed 
against  law,  measure,  and  good  order." 

"Therefore,  to  ride  comely,  to  run  fair  at  the  tilt  or  ring,  to  play  at  all 
weapons,  to  shoot  fair  in  bow,  or  surely  in  gun,  to  vault  lustily,  to  run,  to  leap, 
to  wrestle,  to  swim,  to  dance  comely,  to  sing  and  play  on  instruments  cun- 
ningly, to  hawk,  to  hunt,  to  play  at  tennis,  and  all  pastimes  generally  which  bo 
joined  with  labor  used  in  open  place,  and  on  the  daylight,  containing  either 
some  fit  exercise  for  war,  or  some  pleasant  pastime  for  peace,  be  not  only 
comely  and  decent,  but  also  very  necessary  for  a  courtly  gentlemen  to  use." 

Returning  to  the  subject  of  joining  learning  with  comely  exercises,  he  highly 
recommends  the  work  of  Conto  Baldesar  Castiglione,  entitled  "II  Cortigianto," 
(the  Courtier,)  as  excellently  translated  into  English  by  Sir  Thomas  Hobby, 
"  which  book,"  says  he,  "  advisedly  read  and  diligently  followed  but  one  year 
at  home  in  England,  would  do  a  young  gentleman  more  good,  I  wiss,  than  three 
years  travel  abroad  spent  in  Italy."  "But  the  English  court,"  he  adds,  "has 
never  lacked  many  fine  examples  for  young  gentlemen  to  follow."  Among 
these  he  mentions  the  late  King  Edward,  "and  in  the  second  degree,  two  nobla 


ASCHAM  S  SCHOOLMASTER. 


G9 


primroses  of  nobility,  the  young  Duke  of  Suffolk  and  Lord  Henry  Malavers," 
who,  he  says,  "  were  two  such  examples  to  the  court  for  learning,  as  our  time 
may  rather  wish  than  look  for  again."  At  St.  John's  College,  Cambridge,  also, 
he  commemorates  Sir  John  Cheke  and  Dr.  Redmayn  as  having,  in  his  time, 
done  more  by  their  example  than  the  good  statutes  of  the  college  themselves 
did  "to  breed  up  learned  men,  of  whom  there  were  so  manj-,"  says  he,  "in 
that  one  College  of  St.  John's,  at  one  time,  as  I  believe  the  whole  University 
of  Lovain,  in  many  years,  was  never  able  to  afford." 

He  then  proceeds:  "Present  examples  of  this  present  time  I  list  not  to 
touch ;  yet  there  is  one  example  for  all  the  gentlemen  of  this  court  to  follow, 
.that  may  well  satisfy  them,  or  nothing  will  serve  them,  nor  no  example  move 
them  to  goodness  and  learning. 

"  It  is  your  shame  (I  speak  to  you  all,  you  young  gentlemen  of  England,) 
that  one  maid  should  go  beyond  you  all  in  excellency  of  learning  and  know- 
ledge of  divers  tongues.  Point  forth  six  of  the  best  given  gentlemen  of  this 
court,  and  all  they  together  show  not  so  much  good  will,  spend  not  so  much 
time,  bestow  not  so  many  hours  daily,  orderly,  and  constantly,  for  the  increase 
of  learning  and  knowledge,  as  doth  the  Queen's  Majesty  herself  Yea  I  believe, 
that  beside  her  perfect  readiness  in  Latin,  Italian,  French  and  Spanish,  she 
readeth  here  now  at  Windsor  more  Greek  every  day  than  some  prebendary  of 
this  church  doth  read  Latin  in  a  whole  week.  And  that  which  is  most  j)raise- 
worthy  of  all,  within  the  walls  of  her  privy  chamber,  she  hath  obtained  that 
excellency  of  learning  to  understand,  speak;  and  write  both  wittily  with  head 
and  fair  with  hand,  as  scarce  one  or  two  rare  wits  in  both  the  Universities  have 
in  many  years  reached  unto.  Amongst  all  the  benefits  that  God  hath  blessed 
me  withal,  next  the  knowledge  of  Christ's  true  religion,  I  count  this  the 
greatest,  that  it  pleased  God  to  call  me  to  be  one  poor  minister  in  setting  for- 
ward these  excellent  gifts  of  learning  in  this  most  excellent  Prince ;  whoso  only 
example,  if  the  rest  of  our  nobility  would  follow,  then  might  England  be,  for 
learning  and  wisdom  in  nobility,  a  spectacle  to  all  the  world  beside.  But  see 
the  mishap  of  men ;  the  best  examples  have  never  such  force  to  move  to  any 
goodness,  as  the  bad,  vain,  light,  and  fond  have  to  all  illness." 

"  Take  heed,  therefore,  ye  great  ones  in  the  Court,  yea  though  ye  be  the 
greatest  of  all,  take  heed  what  ye  do,  take  heed  how  ye  live,  for  as  you  great 
ones  use  to  do,  so  all  mean  men  love  to  do.  You  be  indeed  makers,  or  marrers 
of  all  men's  manners  within  the  realm." 

Returning  from  this  digression,  the  author  states  the  sum  of  what  he  baa 
hitherto  dehvered  to  be,  "  that  from  seven  year  old  to  seventeen,  love  is  the 
best  allurement  to  learning;  from  seventeen  to  seven-and-twenty,  that  wise 
men  should  carefully  see  the  steps  of  youth  surely  staid  by  good  order,  in  that 
most  slippery  time,  and  ^ecially  in  the  court;"  and  he  then  proceeds  as 
follows : — 

"Sir  Richard  Sackville,  that  worth}'-  gentleman  of  worthy  memory,  as  I  said 
in  the  beginning,  in  the  Queen's  privy  chamber  at  Windsor,  after  he  had  talked 
with  me  for  the  right  choice  of  good  wit  in  a  cliild  for  learning ;  and  of  the  true 
difference  betwixt  quick  and  hard  wits ;  of  alluring  young  cliildrcn  by  gentle- 
ness to  love  learning ;  and  of  the  special  care  that  was  to  be  had  to  keep  young 
men  from  licentious  living;  he  was  most  earnest  with  me  to  have  me  say  my 
mind  also  what  I  thouglit  concerning  the  fancy  that  many  young  gentlemen  of 


70 


ASCHAMS  SCHOOLMASTER. 


England  have  to  travel  abroad,  and  namely  to  lead  a  long  life  in  Italy.  Ilia 
request,  both  for  his  authority  and  good  will  toward  me,  was  a  sufficient  com- 
mandment unto  mo  to  satisfy  his  pleasure  with  uttering  plainly  my  opinion  in 
that  matter.  'Sir,'  quoth  I,  'I  take  going  thither,  and  living  there,  for  a  young 
gentleman,  that  doth  not  go  under  the  keep  and  guard  of  such  a  man  as  both 
by  wisdom  can,  and  authority  dare  rule  him,  to  be  marvellous  dangerous."  *  * 
"But  to  my  matter;  as  I  began  plainly  and  simply  with  my  young  scholar, 
so  will  I  not  leave  him,  God  willing,  until  I  have  brought  him  a  perfect  scholar 
out  of  the  school,  and  placed  him  iu  the  University,  to  become  a  fit  student  for 
logic,  and  rhetoric,  and  so  after  to  physic,  law,  or  divinity,  as  aptnes^s  of  nature, 
advice  of  friends,  and  God's  disposition  shall  lead  him." 

II.    THE   READY    WAT   TO   THE   LATIN   TONGUE. 

We  shall  commence  an  abstract  of  the  Second  Book  of  the  Schoolmaster,  by 
introducing  the  ofx^ning  passages  of  the  First,  which  were  omitted  in  their 
place,  as  belonging  more  appropriately  to  the  subject  matter  of  this : 

"After  the  child  hath  learned  perfectly  the  eight  parts  of  speech,  let  him 
then  learn  the  right  joining  together  of  substantives  with  adjectives,  the  noun 
with  the  verb,  the  relative  with  the  antecedent.  And  in  learning  farther  his 
syntaxis,  by  mine  advice  he  shall  not  use  the  common  order  in  common  schools 
f.)r  making  of  Latins,  whereby  the  cliild  commonly  learneth,  first,  an  evU  choice 
of  words  (and  'right  choice  of  words,'  saith  Caesar,  'is  tlie  foundation  of  elo- 
quence,') then  a  wrong  placing  of  words,  and,  lastly,  an  ill  framing  of  the 
sentence,  with  a  perverse  judgment  both  of  words  and  sentences.  These  faults, 
taking  once  root  in  youth,  be  never,  or  hardly  plucked  away  in  age.  Moreover, 
there  is  no  one  thing  that  hath  more  either  dulled  the  wits  or  taken  away  the 
will  of  children  from  learning,  than  the  care  they  have  to  satisfy  their  masters 
in  making  of  Latins. 

For  the  scholar  is  commonly  beat  for  the  making,  when  the  master  were 
more  worthy  to  be  beat  for  the  mending,  or  rather  marring  of  the  same,  the 
master  many  times  being  as  ignorant  as  the  child  what  to  say  properly  and  fitly 
to  the  matter. 

Two  schoolmasters  have  set  forth  in  print,  either  of  them,  a  book  of  such 
kind  of  Latins,  Ilorman  and  "Whittington.  A  child  shall  learn  of  the  better  of 
them  that  which,  another  day,  if  he  be  wise  and  come  to  judgment,  he  must  be 
fain  to  unlearn  again. 

There  is  a  way  touched  in  the  first  book  of  Cicero  de  Oratore,  which  wisely 
brought  into  schools,  truly  taught,  and  constantly  used,  would  not  only  take 
wholly  away  this  butcherly  fear  in  making  of  Latins,  but  would  also  with  ease 
and  pleasure,  and  in  short  tune,  as  I  know  by  good  experience,  work  a  true 
choice  and  placing  of  words,  a  right  ordering  of  sentences,  an  easy  under- 
standing of  the  tongue,  a  readiness  to  speak,  a  facility  to  write,  a  true  judgment 
both  of  liis  own  and  other  mens  doings,  what  tongue  soever  he  doth  use. 

The  way  is  this:  After  the  three  concordances  learned,  as  I  touched  before, 
let  the  master  read  unto  him  the  Epistles  of  Cicero,  gathered  together  and 
chosen  out  by  Sturmius  for  the  capacity  of  children. 

First,  let  him  teach  the  child  cheerfully  and  plainly  the  cause  and  matter  of 
the  Letter :  then  let  him  construe  it  into  English,  so  oft  as  the  child  may  easily 
curry  away  the  understanding  of  it ;  lastly,  parse  it  over  perfectly.  This  done 
thus  let  the  child,  by  and  by,  both  construe  and  i)arse  it  over  again ;  so  that  it 


ASCHAM'S  SCHOOLMASTER.  Yl 

may  appear  that  the  child  doubteth  in  nothing  that  his  master  taught  him 
before.  After  this,  the  child  must  take  a  paper  book,  and  sitting  in  some  place 
where  no  man  shall  prompt  him,  by  himself,  let  him  translate  into  English  his 
former  lesson.  Then,  showing  it  to  his  master,  let  the  master  take  from  him 
his  Latin  book,  and  pausing  an  hour  at  least,  then  let  the  child  translate  his  own 
English  into  Latin  again  in  another  paper  book.  When  the  child  bringeth  it 
turned  into  Latin,  the  master  must  compare  it  with  Tully's  book,  and  lay  them 
both  together;  and  where  the  child  doth  well,  either  in  choosing  or  true, 
placing  Tully's  words,  let  the  master  praise  him,  and  say,  '  Here  you  do  well ;' 
for  I  assure  you  there  is  no  such  whetstone  to  sharpen  a  good  wit,  and  en- 
courage a  will  to  learning,  as  is  praise. 

But  if  the-  child  miss,  either  in  forgetting  a  word,  or  in  changing  a  good  with 
a  worse,  or  misordering  the  sentence,  I  would  not  have  the  master  either  frown, 
or  chide  with  him,  if  the  child  hath  done  his  diligence  and  used  no  truantship 
therein;  for  I  know  by  good  experience,  that  a  child  shall  take  more  profit  of 
two  faults  gently  warned  of,  than  of  four  things  rightly  hit;  for  then  the  master 
shall  have  good  occasion  to  say  unto  him,  '  Tully  would  have  used  such  a  word, 
not  this ;  Tully  would  have  placed  this  word  here,  not  there :  would  have  used 
this  case,  this  number,  this  person,  this  degree,  this  gender;  he  would  have 
used  this  mood,  this  tense,  this  simple  rather  than  this  compound ;  this  adverb 
here,  not  there ;  he  would  have  ended  the  sentence  with  this  verb,  not  with 
that  noun  or  participle,'  &c. 

In  these  few  lines  I  have  wrapped  up  the  most  tedious  part  of  grammar,  and 
also  the  ground  of  almost  all  the  rules  that  are  so  busily  tauglit  by  the  master, 
and  so  hardly  learned  by  the  scholar  in  all  common  schools,  which  after  this 
sort  the  master  shall  teach  without  all  error,  and  the  scholar  shall  learn  without 
great  pain ;  the  .master  being  led  by  so  sure  a  guide,  and  the  scholar  being 
brought  into  so  plain  and  easy  a  way.  And  therefore  we  do  not  contemn  rules, 
but  we  gladly  teach  rules,  and  teach  them  more  plainly,  sensibly,  and  orderly 
than  they  be  commonly  taught  in  common  schools.  For  when  the  master  shall 
compare  Tully's  book  with  the  scholar's  translation,  let  the  master  at  the  first 
lead  and  teach  his  scholar  to  join  the  rules  of  his  grammar  book  with  the  ex- 
amples of  his  present  lesson,  until  the  scholar  hj  himself  be  able  to  fetch  out 
of  his  grammar  every  rule  for  every  example,  so  as  the  grammar  book  be  ever 
in  the  scholar's  hand,  and  also  used  of  him  as  a  dictionary  for  every  present 
use.  This  is  a  lively  and  perfect  way  of  teaching  of  rules;  where  the  common 
way  used  in  common  schools,  to  read  the  grammar  alone  by  itself,  is  tedious  for 
the  master,  hard  for  the  scholar,  cold  and  uncomfortable  for  them  both. 

Let  your  scholar  be  never  afraid  to  ask  you  any  doubt,  but  use  discreetly  the 
best  aUurements  you  can  to  encourage  him  to  the  same,  lest  his  overmuch 
fearing  of  you  drive  him  to  seek  some  misorderlj'^  shift,  as  to  seek  to  be  helped 
by  some  other  book,  or  to  be  prompted  by  some  other  scholar,  and  so  go  about 
to  beguile  you  much,  and  himself  more. 

With  this  way  of  good  understanding  the  matter,  plain  construing,  diligent 
parsing,  daily  translating,  cheerful  admonishing,  and  heedful  amending  of  faults, 
never  leaving  behind  just  praise  for  well  doing,  I  would  have  the  scholar 
brought  up  withal,  till  he  had  read  and  translated  over  the  first  book  of  Epistles 
chosen  out  by  Sturraius,  with  a  good  piece  of  a  comedy  of  Terence  also. 

All  this  wliile,  by  mine  advice,  the  child  shall  use  to  speak  no  Latin ;  for,  as 
Cicero  saith  in  like  matter,  with  like  words,  Luquaido,  male  loqui  discuni;  and 


72  ASCIIAM  S  SCHOOLMASTER. 

that  excellent  learned  man  G.  Budaeus,  in  his  Greek  commentaries,  sore  com- 
plaineth,  that  when  he  began  to  learn  the  Latin  tongue,  use  of  speaking  Latin 
at  the  table  and  elsewhere  unadvisedly  did  bring  him  to  such  an  evil  choice  of 
words,  to  such  a  crooked  framing  of  sentences,  that  no  one  thing  did  hurt  or 
hinder  him  more  all  the  days  of  his  life  afterwards,  both  for  readiness  in  speak- 
ing, and  also  good  judgment  in  writing." 

Upon  the  subject  of  speaking  Latin,  the  author  admits  that  if  children  could 
be  brought  up  in  a  house  or  a  school  in  which  the  Latin  tongue  was  properly 
and  perfectly  spoken,  then  the  daily  use  of  speaking  would  be  the  best  and 
readiest  way  to  learn  the  language.  But  in  the  best  schools  in  Eng- 
land he  contends  that  no  such  constant  propriety  of  expression  was  to  be 
heard.  If  the  object  therefore  be  that  the  scholar  shall  learn  not  only  to  speak 
Latin,  but  to  speak  it  well,  our  author's  opinion  is  that  he  will  best  acquire  this 
faculty  by  use  of  writing. 

After  some  time  wlien  the  scholar  is  found  to  perform  this  first  kind  of  exer- 
cise with  increasing  ease  and  correctness,  he  must  have  longer  lessons  to  translate, 
and  must  also  be  introduced  to  the  second  stage  in  the  order  of  teaching;  that 
is  to  say,  he  is  to  be  taught  to  know  and  distinguish,  both  in  nouns  and  verbs, 
what  is  proprium  (literal,)  and  wliat  is  iranslatum  (metaphorical;)  what 
synonymum  (synonymous,)  what  diversum  (difl'ering  in  signitication  in  certain 
respects;)  which  words  are  contraria  (opposite  in  signification  to  each  other,) 
and  which  are  the  most  remarkable  phrases  or  idiomatic  expressions,  through- 
out the  whole  passage  which  forms  his  lesson.  For  this  purpose  he  must  have 
a  third  paper  book ;  in  which  after  he  has  done  his  double  translation  he  must 
write  out  and  arrange  what  is  to  be  found  in  the  lesson  under  each  of  these 
heads.  Should  the  passage  contain  nothing  certain  of  them,  he  ought  still  to 
enter  the  head  or  title:  thus,  diversa  nulla  (no  words  differing  in  signification;) 
contraria  nulla  (no  words  of  opposite  signification,)  &c. 

"This  diligent  translating,"  says  the  author,  "joined  with  this  heedful  mark- 
ing in  the  foresaid  p]pistles,  and  afterward  in  some  plain  Oration  of  Tully,  as 
Pro  Lege  Manilia,  Pro  Archia  Poeta,  or  in  those  three  Ad  0.  Ccesarem  (lie  means 
those  three  u.mmonly  entitled  Pro  Q.  Ligario,  Pro  Rege  Dejotaro,  and  Pro  M. 
Marcello,)  shall  work  such  a  right  choice  of  words,  so  strait  a  framing  of  sen- 
tences, such  a  true  judgment,  both  to  write  skillfully  and  speak  wittily,  as  wise 
men  shall  both  praise  and  marvel  at." 

The  author  in  the  Second  Book  proceeds  with  the  subject  as  follows : — 

"After  that  your  scholar,  as  I  said  before,  shall  come  in  deed,  first  to  a  ready 
perfectness  in  translating,  then  to  a  ripe  and  skillful  choice  in  marking  out  his 
six  points ;  as — 1.  Proprium;  2.  Translatum;  3.  Synonymum;  4.  Contrarium; 
5.  Diversum ;  6.  Phrases ;  then  take  this  order  with  him :  read  daily  unto  him 
some  book  of  Tully ;  as  the  Third  Book  of  Epistles,  chosen  out  by  Sturmius ;  de 
Amicitia  de  Senectute,  or  that  excellent  Epistle,  containing  almost  the  whole 
First  Book,  ad  Q.  Fratrem;  some  comedy  of  Terence,  or  Plautus.  But  in 
Plautus,  skillful  choice  must  be  used  by  the  master,  to  train  his  scholar  to  a 
judgment  in  cutting  out  perfectly  over  old  and  improper  words.  Ciesar's  Com- 
mentaries are  to  be  read  with  all  curiosity,  wherein  especially  (without  all  ex- 
ception to  be  made  either  by  friend  or  foe)  is  seen  the  unspotted  propriety  of 
the  Latin  tongue,  even  when  it  was,  as  the  Grecians  say,  in  aif^ft,  that  is,  at  the 
highest  pitcli  of  all  perfectness ;  or  some  orations  of  T,  Livius,  such  as  be  both 
longest  and  plainest. 


ASCIIAM'S  SCHOOLMASTER.  73 

These  books  I  would  have  him  read  now  a  good  deal  at  every  lecture ;  for  he 
shall  not  now  use  daily  translation,  but  only  construe  again,  and  parse,  where 
3'e  suspect  is  any  need :  yet  let  him  not  omit  in  these  books  his  former  exercise, 
in  marking  diligently,  and  writing  orderly  out  his  six  points ;  and  for  translating, 
use  j'ou  yourself  every  second  or  third  day,  to  choose  out  some  Epistle  ad  Aiti- 
cum,  some  notable  common-place  out  of  his  Orations,  or  some  other  part  of 
Tully,  by  your  discretion,  which  your  scholar  may  not  know  where  to  find ;  and 
translate  it  you  )'Ourself  into  plain  natural  English,  and  then  give  it  him  to 
translate  into  Latin  again,  allowing  him  good  space  and  time  to  do  it  both  with 
diligent  heed  and  good  advisement. 

Here  his  wit  shall  be  new  set  on  work ;  his  judgment  for  right  choice  truly 
tried;  his  memory  for  sure  retaining  better  exercised,  than  by  learning  anything 
without  the  book  ;  and  here,  how  much  he  hath  profited  shall  plainly  appear. 
When  he  bringeth  it  translated  unto  you,  bring  you  forth  the  place  of  Tully; 
lay  them  together,  compare  the  one  with  the  other;  commend  his  good  choice, 
and  right  placing  of  words  ;  show  his  faults  gently,  but  blame  them  not  over- 
sharply ;  for  of  such  missings,  gently  admonished  ofj  proceedeth  glad  and  good 
heed-taking ;  of  good  heed-taking,  springeth  chiefly  knowledge,  which  after 
groweth  to  perfectness,  if  this  order  be  diligently  used  by  the  scholar,  and 
gently  handled  by  the  master.  For  here  shall  all  the  hard  points  of  grammar 
both  easily  and  surely  be  learned  up,  which  scholars  in  common  schools,  by  mak- 
ing of  Latins,  be  groping  at  with  care  and  fear,  and  yet  in  many  years  they 
scarce  can  reach  unto  them.     ******* 

When  by  this  diligent  and  speedy  reading  over  those  forenaraed  good  books 
of  Tully,  Terence,  Cajsar,  and  Livy,  and  by  this  second  kind  of  translating  out 
of  your  English,  time  shall  breed  skill,  and  use  shall  bring  perfection :  then  ye 
may  try,  if  ye  will,  your  scholar  with  the  third  kind  of  translation,  although  the 
two  first  waj'S,  by  mine  opinion,  be  not  only  sufficient  of  themselves,  but  also 
surer,  both  for  the  master's  teaching  and  scholar's  learning,  than  this  third  way 
is,  which  is  thus : — 

Write  you  in  English  some  letter,  as  it  were  from  him  to  liis  father,  or  to  some 
other  friend,  naturally,  according  to  the  disposition  of  the  child ;  or  some  tale, 
or  fable,  or  plain  narration,  according  as  Aphthonius*  beginneth  his  exercises  of 
learning :  and  let  him  translate  into  Latin  again,  abiding  in  such  place  where  no 
other  scholar  may  prompt  him.  But  yet,  use  you  yourself  such  discretion  for 
choice  therein,  as  the  matter  may  be  within  the  compass,  both  for  words  and 
sentences,  of  his  former  learning  and  reading.  And  now  take  heed,  lest  your 
scholar  do  not  better  in  some  point  than  you  yourself,  except  yo  have  been 
diligently  exercised  in  these  kinds  of  translating  before. 

I  had  once  a  proof  hereof,  tried  by  good  experience,  by  a  dear  friend  of  mine, 
when  I  came  first  from  Cambridge  to  serve  the  Queen's  Majesty,  then  Lady 
Ehzabeth,  Ij'ing  at  worthy  Sir  Antony  Denny's,  in  Cheston.  John  Whitney,  a 
young  gentleman,  was  my  bed-fellow,  who  willing  by  good  nature,  and  provoked 
by  mine  advice,  began  to  learn  the  Latin  tongue,  after  the  order  declared  in  this 
book.  We  began  after  Cliristmas;  I  read  unto  him  Tully  cfe  Amiciiia,  which  he 
did  every  day  twice  translate  out  of  Latin  into  English,  and  out  of  English  into 

*  This  book  of  Aphthonius,  now  forjrotten,  was  once  in  great  vogne  in  our  schools  and  on 
the  continent.  Among  the  list  of  books  in  Sandwich  Sclinol  hox  or  library  (Temp.  Eliz.  Reg.) 
wasa  copy  of  Aphthonius.    There  is  a  short  notice  of  Aphthonius  in  the  Penny  Cyclopaedia. 


74  ASCHAM  S  SCUOOLMASTER. 

Latiu  again.  About  Si.  Lawronco  tide,  after,  to  prove  how  he  profited,  I  did 
choose  out  Toiquatus'  talk  de  Amicitia,  in  the  latter  end  of  the  lirst  book  de 
Finibus,  because  that  place  was  the  same  in  the  matter,  like  in  words  and 
phrases,  nigh  to  the  form  and  fashion  of  sentences,  as  he  had  learned  before  in 
de  Amicitia.  I  did  translate  it  myself  into  plain  English,  and  gave  it  him  to 
turn  into  Latin,  which  he  did  so  choicely,  so  orderly,  so  without  any  great  miss 
in  the  hardest  points  of  grammar,  that  tiome  in  seven  year  in  grammar  schools, 
yea,  and  some  in  the  University -too,  can  not  do  half  so  well." 

The  author  next  discusses  "  the  six  ways  appointed  by  the  best  learned  men 
for  the  learning  of  tongues  and  increase  of  eloquence,  as  1.  Translalion;  2. 
Faraphratie;  3.  Mdaphrasis;  4.  Epitome;  5.  Imitation.''^ 

I.  "  Translation,  is  easy  in  the  beginning  for  the  scholar,  and  briugeth  also 
much  learning  and  great  judgment  to  the  master.  It  is  most  common  and  most 
commendable  of  all  other  exercises  for  youth :  most  common ;  for  all  your  con- 
structions in  grammar  schools  be  nothing  else  but  translations.  But  because 
they  be  not  double  translations,  as  I  do  require,  they  bring  forth  but  simple  and 
single  commodity ;  and  because  also  they  lack  the  daily  use  of  writing  which  is 
the  only  thing  that  brecdeth  deep  root,  both  in  the  wit  for  good  understanding, 
and  in  the  memory  for  sure  keeping  of  all  that  is  learned." 

Ascham  justifies  his  views  on  the  subject  by  citing  the  opinions  of  Cicero, 
Quintiliau,  and  Pliny,  and  thus  concludes: — 

"And  by  these  authorities  and  reasons  am  I  moved  to  think  this  way  of 
double  translating,  either  only,  or  chiefly,  to  be  fittest  for  the  speedy  and  perfect 
attaining  of  any  tongue.  And  for  speedy  attaining,  I  durst  venture  a  good 
wager,  if  a  scholar  in  whom  is  aptness,  love,  diligence,  and  constancy,  would  but 
translate  after  this  sort  one  little  book  in  Tully  (as  de  Senedute,  with  two  Epis- 
tles, the  first  ad  Q.  Fratrem,  the  other  ad  Leniulum  the  last  save  one  in  the  First 
Book,)  that  scholar,  I  say,  should  come  to  a  better  knowledge  in  the  Latin 
tongue  than  the  most  part  do  that  spend  four  or  five  years  in  tossmg  all  the  rules 
of  grammar  in  common  schools.  Indeed,  this  one  Book  with  these  two  Epis- 
tles, is  not  sufficient  to  aflbrd  all  Latiu  words  (which  is  not  necessary  for  a  young 
scholar  to  know,)  but  it  is  able  to  furnish  him  fully,  for  all  points  of  grammar, 
with  the  right  placing,  ordering,  aud  use  of  words,  in  all  kind  of  matter.  And 
why  not?  For  it  is  read,  that  Dion  Prusa^us,*  that  wise  philosopher  aud  excel- 
lent orator  of  all  his  time,  did  come  to  the  great  learning  and  utterance  that  was 
in  him,  by  reading  and  following  only  two  books,  Phajdon  Platonis,  and  Demos- 
thenes' most  notable  Oration  Ilcpi  napa-nptaficiaT. 

And  a  better  and  nearer  example  herein  may  be  our  most  noble  Que  en  Eliza- 
beth, who  never  took  yet  Greek  nor  Latin  grammar  in  her  hand,  after  the  first 
declining  of  a  noun  and  a  verb ;  but  only  by  this  double  translating  of  Demos- 
thenes and  Isocrates  daily,  without  missing,  every  forenoon,  and  likewise  some 
part  of  Tully  every  afternoon,  for  the  space  of  a  year  or  two,  hath  attained  to 
such  a  perfect  understanding  in  both  the  tongues,  and  to  such  a  ready  utterance 
of  the  Latin,  and  that  with  a  judgment,  as  they  be  few  in  number  in  both  the 
Universities,  or  elsewhere  m  England,  that  be  in  both  tongues  comparable  with 
her  Majesty." 

II.  Paraphrasis  is  defined  as  being  "not  only  to  express  at  large  with  more 
words,  but  to  shine  and  contend  to  translate  the  best  Latin  authors  into  other 

♦Tliat  is,  Chrysostom,  whose  name  was  Dion,  and  who  was  a  native  of  Pnisa  in  Bithjnia. 


ASCHAMS  SCHOOLMASTER.  ^5 

Latin  words,  as  manj-,  or  thereabout."  This  method  Ascham  decidedly  con- 
demns as  a  school  exercise,  on  the  same  grounds  on  which  it  is  disapproved  of 
by  Cicero  and  the  younger  Pliny,  the  latter  of  whom  in  one  his  Epistles  calls  it 
audax  contentio,  an  audacious  contention.  "  It  is  a  bold  comparison,  indeed," 
says  our  author,  "  to  think  to  say  better  than  that  is  best.  Such  turning  of  the 
best  into  worse,  is  much  like  the  turning  of  good  wine,  out  of  a  fair  sweet 
flagon  of  silver,  into  a  foul  musty  bottle  of  leather ;  or  to  turn  pure  gold  and 
silver  into  foul  brass  and  copper. 

Paraphrasis,  therefore,  by  mine  opinion,  is  not  meet  for  grammar  schools,  nor 
yet  very  fit  for  j'OUng  men  in  the  University,  until  study  and  time  have  bred  in 
them  perfect  learning  and  steadfast  judgment." 

III.  Metaphrasis.  "  This  kind  of  exercise,"  says  Ascham,  "  is  all  one  with  para- 
phrasis, save  it  is  out  of  verse  either  into  prose,  or  into  some  other  kind  of 
meter ;  or  else  out  of  prose  into  verse,  which  was  Socrates's  exercise  and 
pastime,  as  Plato  reporteth,  when  he  was  in  prison,  to  translate  JEsop's  fables 
into  verse.  Quintihau  doth  greatly  praise  also  this  exercise ;  but  because  TuUy 
doth  disallow  it  in  young  men,  by  mine  opinion  it  were  not  well  to  use  it  in 
grammar  schools,  even  for  the  self-same  causes  that  he  recited  against 
paraphrasis." 

IV.  "  Epitome  is  good  privately  for  himself  that  doth  work  it,  but  ill  commonly 
for  all  others  that  use  other  men's  labor  therein.  A  silly  poor  kind  of  study,  not 
unlike  to  the  doing  of  those  poor  folk  which  neither  till,  nor  sow,  nor  reap 
themselves,  but  glean  by  stealth  upon  other  men's  ground.  Such  have  empty 
barns  for  dear  years." 

"I  do  wish,"  he  afterwards  remarks,  in  reference  to  the  common  books  of  ex- 
ercises used  at  schools,  "  that  all  rules  for  young  scholars  were  shorter  than  they 
be.  For  without  doubt,  Grammatica  itself  is  sooner  and  surer  learned  by  ex- 
amples of  good  authors  than  by  the  naked  rules  of  grammarians.  Epitome 
hurtelh  more  in  the  universities  and  study  of  philosoijhy,  but  most  of  all  iu 
divinity  itself"  • 

He  acknowledges,  however,  that  "  books  of  common  places  be  very  necessary 
to  induce  a  man  into  an  orderly  general  knowledge,  how  to  refer  orderly 
all  that  he  rcadeth  ad  ceria  rcrum  cainta  (to  certain  heads, )  and  not  wander  m 
study." 

"Epitome  is  most  necessary  of  all  in  a  man's  own  writing,  as  we  learn  of  that 
noble  poet  Virgil,  who,  if  Donatus  say  true,  in  writing  that  perfect  work  of  the 
Georgics,  used  daily,  when  he  had  written  forty  or  fifty  verses,  not  to  cease  cutting, 
paring,  and  polishing  of  them,  till  he  had  brought  them  to  the  number  of  ten  or 
twelve. 

And  this  exercise  is  not  more  needfully  done  in  a  great  work  than  wisely 
done  in  our  common  daily  writing,  either  of  letter  or  other  thing  else;  that  is 
to  say,  to  peruse  diligently,  and  see  and  spy  wisely,  what  is  always  more  than 
needeth.  •  For  twenty  to  one  offend  more  in  writing  too  much  than  too  little ; 
even  as  twenty  to  one  fall  into  sickness  rather  by  over  much  fullness  than  by 
any  lack  or  emptiness.     *     *    *     * 

And  of  all  other  men,  even  those  that  have  the  inventivest  heads  for  all  pur- 
poses, and  roundest  tongues  in  all  matters  and  places  (except  they  learn  and  use 
this  good  lesson  of  epitome,)  commit  commonly  greater  faults  than  dull,  staying, 
silent  men  do.     For  quick  inventors,  and  foir  ready  speakers,  being  boldened 


»^g  ASCHAM'S  SCHOOLMASTER. 

with  their  present  abihty  to  say  more,  and  perchance  bettor  too,  at  the  sudden 
for  that  present  than  any  others  can  do,  use  less  help  of  diligence  and  study 
than  they  ought  to  do,  and  so  have  in  tliem  commonly  less  learning  and  weaker 
judgment  for  all  deep  considerations  than  some  duller  heads  and  slower  tongues 
have. 

And  therefore  ready  speakers  generally  be  not  the  best,  plainest,  and  wisest 
writers,  nor  yet  the  deepest  judgcrs  in  weighty  aflairs;  because  tliey  do  not 
tarry  to  weigh  and  judge  all  things  as  they  should,  but  having  their  heads  over 
full  of  matter,  be  like  pens  over  full  of  ink,  which  will  sooner  blot  tlian  make  any 
fair  letter  at  all.  Time  was,  when  I  had  experience  of  two  ambassadors  in  one 
place,  the  one  of  a  hot  head  to  invent,  and  of  a  hasty  hand  to  write ;  the  other 
cold  and  staid  in  both ;  but  what  difference  of  their  doings  was  made  by  wise 
men  is  not  unknown  to  some  persons.  The  Bishop  of  Winchester,  Stephen 
Gardiner,  had  a  quick  head  and  a  ready  tongue,  and  yet  was  not  the  best  writer 
in  England.  Cicero  in  Brutus  doth  wisely  note  the  same  in  Serg.  Galba  and  Q. 
Hortcnsius,  who  were  both  hot,  lusty,  and  plain  speakers,  but  cold,  loose,  and 
rough  writers.  And  Tully  telleth  the  cause  why,  saying,  when  they  spoke, 
their  tongue  was  naturally  carried  with  full  tide  and  wind  of  their  wit ;  when 
they  wrote,  their  head  was  solitary,  dull,  and  calm ;  and  so  their  style  was  blunt 
and  their  writing  cold."  The  author  then  quotes  a  remark  from  Cicero,  to  the 
effect,  that  the  fault  in  question  is  one  by  which  men  of  much  natural  ability, 
but  insufQciently  instructed,  are  often  found  to  be  characterized.  "  And  there- 
fore," he  concludes,  "all  quick  inventors  and  ready  fair  speakers  must  be  careful 
that,  to  their  goodness  of  nature,  they  add  also  in  any  wise  study,  labor,  leisure, 
learning,  and  judgment,  and  then  they  .shall  indeed  pass  all  other  (as  I  know 
some  do  in  whom  all  those  qualities  are  fully  planted,)  or  else  if  they  give  over 
much  to  their  wit,  and  over  little  to  their  labor  and  learning,  they  will  soonest 
overreach  in  talk,  and  farthest  come  behind  in  writing,  whatsoever  they  take  in 
hand.     The  method  of  epitome  is  most  necessary  for  such  kind  of  men." 

V.  Imitation  Ascham  defines  to  be  "  a  faculty  to  express  lively  and  perfectly 
that  example  which  you  go  about  to  follow."  "All languages,"  he  continues, 
"  both  learned,  and  mother  tongues,  be  gotten,  and  gotten  solely,  by  imitation. 
For  as  ye  use  to  hear,  so  ye  learn  to  speak;  if  ye  hear  no  other,  ye  speak  not 
yourself;  and  whom  ye  only  hear,  of  them  ye  only  learn. 

And  therefore  if  ye  would  speak  as  the  best  and  wisest  do,  ye  must  be  con- 
versant where  the  best  and  wisest  are;  but  if  you  be  born  or  brought  up  in  a 
rude  country,  ye  shall  not  choose  but  .^peak  rudely.  The  rudest  man  of  all 
knoweth  this  to  be  true. 

Yet  nevertheless,  the  rudeness  of  common  and  mother  tongues  is  no  bar  for 
wise  speaking.  For  in  the  rudest  country,  and  most  barbarous  motlier  language, 
many  be  found  that  can  speak  very  wisely;  but  in  the  Greek  and  Latin  tongues, 
the  two  only  learned  tongues,  which  be  kept  not  in  common  talk,  but  in  private 
■  books,  we  find  always  wisdom  and  eloquence,  good  matter  and  good  utterance, 
never  or  seldom  asunder.  For  all  such  authors,  as  be  fullest  of  good  matter  and 
right  judgment  in  doctrine,  be  likewise  always  most  proper  in  words,  most  apt 
in  sentence,  most  plain  and  pure  in  uttering  the  same." 

After  examining  what  has  been  said  upon  the  subject  of  imitation  by  various 
writers,  ancient  and  modern,  he  advises  "a  good  student  to  journey  through 
all  authors,"  but  to  dwell  only,  "after  God's  Holy  Bible,  with  Tully  in  Latin, 
Plato,  Aristotle,  Zenophon,  Isocrates,  and  Demosthenes  in  Greek." 


LORD   BACON, 


HIS    PHILOSOPHY,    AND    ITS    INFLUENCE    UPON    EDUCATION. 
(Translated  from  the  German  of  Von  Raumer,  for  the  American  Journal  of  Education.) 


Francis  Bacon  was  born  at  London,  on  the  22d  of  January,  1561. 
His  fatlier,  Nicholas  Bacon,  was  Lord  Keeper  of  the  Seal,  in  the  reign 
of  Queen  Elizabeth ;  his  mother,  whose  maiden  name  was  Anna 
Cook,  was  a  pious  and  highly  intellectual  lady,  well  versed  both  in 
the  Greek  and  Latin  classics.  When  quite  young.  Bacon  displayed 
such  a  mature  judgment,  that  Queen  Elizabeth,  who  took  great  pleas- 
ure in  conversing  with  him,  addressed  him  as  her  little  Keeper  of  the 
Seal.  When  not  quite  sixteen  years  of  age,  he  was  placed  at  Trinity 
College,  Cambridge,  liis  principal  instructor  there  was  John  Whit- 
gift,  a  doctor  of  theology,  and  afterward  Archbishop  of  Canterbury. 
While  at  Cambridge,  he  bestowed  diligent  study  upon  Aristotle,  but 
with  all  his  regard,  for  him,  he  conceived  a  distaste  for  his  doctrines ; 
and,  even  from  this  early  period,  we  may  date  the  commencement  of 
his  warfare  against  scholasticism. 

After  he  had  completed  his  education  at  the  university,  his  father, 
wishing  to  initiate  him  in  politics,  commended  him  to  the  charge  of 
Paulett,  English  ambassador  at  the  Court  of  France.  During  Ba- 
con's residence  at  Paris,  his  father  died,  leaving  but  a  moderate  prop- 
erty to  be  divided  between  himself  and  his  four  brothers.  In  after 
years,  his  brother  Anthony  bequeathed  him  an  independent  fortune. 

On  his  return  to  England,  he  applied  himself  with  ardor  to  the 
study  of  law,  and  was  soon  chosen  councilor  by  Elizabeth ;  but  she 
did  not  advance  him  to  any  higher  post  of  honor.  This  was  re- 
served for  James  L,  who  made  him  Lord  High  Chancellor,  with  the 
titles  of  Verulam  and  Vice-Count  St.  Albans. 

He  married  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy  London  alderman,  whose 
name  was  Burnham,  by  whom,  however,  he  had  no  issue. 

Six  years  before  his  death,  he  was  deposed  from  his  office.  And 
that  he  had  been  guilty  of  misdemeanor  therein,  is,  alas !  but  too 
evident.  He  was  convicted  of  having  used  his  high  judicial  function 
in  the  service  of  bribery,  and  James  L  could  do  no  more  than  miti- 
gate the  sentence   that  was   pronounced   against  him,  nor  could   he 

77 


78  LORD  BACON. 

ever  afterward  recover  the  influence  that  lie  had  lost,  though  he  sought 
it  with  the  most  fulsome  flatteries. 

It  is  truly  painful  to  see  a  man  of  such  commanding  talents  sink 
into  such  depths  of  moral  degradation.  It  would  appear,  in  some 
instances,  as  if  an  over-exertion  of  the  intellectual  powers  operated  to 
the  injury  of  the  moral  nature ;  since  constant  mental  labor  leaves  no 
time  for  self-consecration  and  self-conquest,  yea,  in  the  end,  destroys 
all  power  and  capacity  therefor, — so  much  does  such  labor  engross  the 
whole  man. 

But  the  closing  years  of  Bacon's  life  redounded  to  the  inestimable 
advantage  of  science ;  for  he  gave  his  undivided  attention  to  it,  after 
his  removal  from  the  service  of  the  state. 

He  died  on  the  9th  of  April,  1626,  in  the  66th  year  of  his  age, 
having  lived  to  be  three  years  older  than  Shakspeare,  whom  he  sur- 
vived ten  years.  Seldom  have  two  such  eminent  men  lived  at  the 
same  time,  and  in  the  same  place, — men  of  such  vast,  and  yet  oppo- 
site endowments.  It  would  almost  appear  that,  in  Bacon,  the  genius 
of  prose,  in  Shakspeare,  of  poetry,  came  into  the  world  in  person  :  in 
one,  an  understanding,  the  highest,  clearest,  most  searching,  and  me- 
thodical ;  and,  in  the  other,  an  imagination  of  unbounded  creative 
capacity.  The  poet,  it  is  true,  manifested  a  keen  intellectual  insight, 
together  with  a  wonderfully  comprehensive  knowledge  of  human  na- 
ture ;  but  we  can  hardly  concede  to  Bacon  much  of  that  sense  of 
beauty  which  is  so  marked  an  attribute  of  the  poet.  Both  of 
them,  however,  were  alike  in  achieving  superior  feme  by  the  exercise 
of  their  understanding,  and  in  suflfering  the  glory  of  that  fame  to  be 
tarnished  by  the  abuse  of  their  imagination.  Ho"w  far  justice  was 
meted  out  to  Bacon,  we  shall  be  better  able  to  judge  in  the  sequel. 

A  third  great  genius,  born  in  the  same  decade  with  Shakspeare  and 
Bacon  (1571,)  deserves  mention  here,  as  ranking  with  the  mightiest 
minds  that  the  world  ever  produced  ;  I  refer  to  Kepler.  But  what  a 
remarkable  contrast  does  the  mutual  non-intercourse  of  these  three 
giant  spirits  present  to  the  warm  and  living  fellowship  that  subsisted 
between  Luther  and  Melancthon.  It  is  as  though  they  had  not 
known  of  each  other's  exi.stence.  Bacon,  notwithstanding  the  uni- 
versality of  his  writings,  has  no  where  made  mention  of  Shakspeare ; 
he  treats  of  dramatic  poetry,  but  utters  not  a  syllable  in  regard  to  the 
greatest  dramatist  "  that  ever  lived  in  the  tide  of  times,"  although 
this  one  was  even  his  fellow-citizen.  So,  likewise.  Bacon  treats  often 
of  astronomy,  and  introduces  Copernicus  and  Galileo,  but  Kepler 
never.  And  yet,  Kepler  must  have  been  known  to  him,  for,  in  the 
year  1618,  he  dedicated  his  great  work,  "Harmonice  Mundi,^''  to  the 


LORD  BACON.  YO 

self-same  King  James  wliom  Bacon  revered  as  his  great  patron,  and, 
in  many  of  his  own  dedications,  had  styled  a  second  Solomon. 

Bacon's  works  have  appeared  in  repeated  editions,  both  in  sejiarate 
treatises  and  in  a  collected  form.  Many  of  them  have  no  bearing 
upon  our  present  inquiry ;  such,  for  instance,  as  the  '■'•Political 
Speeches^''  the  '■^Essays,  Civil  and  Moral,"  the  '■'■History  of  the  Reign 
of  Henry  VII."  etc.  On  the  contrary,  his  philosophical  works 
proper  are  of  the  utmost  value  in  their  relation  to  the  science  of  ed- 
ucation, although,  on  a  cursory  glance,  it  may  not  appear  so.  What 
Bacon  advanced  directly  on  this  subject,  is  comparatively  unimport- 
ant; but  the  indirect  influence  which,  as  the  founder  of  the  inductive 
method  of  philosophizing  upon  nature,  or  "  real  realism^'  as  I  have 
elsewhere  styled  it,  he  exerted  upon  education,  this,  though  we  are 
unable  always  to  analyze  it,  is  nevertheless  invaluable.  The  reader 
will  therefore  follow  me  without  surprise,  if,  in  the  succeeding  pages, 
I  shall  appear  to  have  lost  sight,  for  a  time,  of  the  purely  educational 
element. 

Bacon  has  himself  given  us  a  sketch  of  the  great  philosophical 
Avork,  which  he  designed  to  write,  and  parts  of  which  he  completed. 
The  work  was  called  '■^Instauratio  Magna,"  and  it  was  divided 
into  six  parts.  The  first  part  was  an  encyclopedia  of  all  human 
learning,  whether  ancient  or  modern.  In  this  he  purposed,  especiall}', 
to  point  out  deficiencies,  and  suggest  new  subjects  of  inquir3^  This 
part  we  have;  it  is  the  "Z>e  clignitate  et  augmentis  scientiarinn,'"  is 
in  nine  books,  and  is  the  best  known  of  all  his  works.  Some  portions 
of  it  are  completely  elaborated ;  others  consist  of  a  more  or  less  thor- 
oughly meditated  plan.  The  second  part  of  the  ^^Instawatio  Mag- 
na"  Bacon  published  under  the  title  of  '■'■Novum  Organum,  Sive 
judicia  vera  de  inierpretatione  Naturae.''''  He  worked  upon  this  part 
for  many  years;  at  his  death,  there  were  found  twelve  dift'erent  elab- 
orations of  it.  It  is  a  collection  of  great  thoughts,  remarkable  for 
their  depth,  their  freshness,  and  the  extreme  nicety  with  which  they 
are  adjusted,  the  one  to  the  other, — and  all  are  intelligibly  expressed 
in  aphorisms,  whose  every  word  we  feel  has  been  carefully  weighed. 

The  third  part  of  the  '■'■Jnstauratio  Magna'"  was  designed  to  pre- 
sent a  collection  of  the  facts  of  natural  history,  and  experimental  phi- 
losophy, or  "  Pha;nomena  itniversi ;"  some  portions  of  this  were  com- 
pleted. In  the  fourth  part,  or  "  Scala  intellcctus,'"  Bacon  gives  special 
applications  of  his  philosophy  in  examples  of  the  correct  method  of 
investigating  nature.  The  fifth,  or  "  Anticipationes  philosophise  secun- 
dce,'"  was  to  be  a  sketch  of  the  preparations  of  preceding  ages  for  the 
final  introduction  of  the  new  philosophy ;  while  the  sixth  wjis  to  em- 


80  LORD  BACON. 

body  the  new  philosophy,  in  all  its  completeness  and  grandeur.  This 
crowning    part  of  the  whole  work  Bacon  left  wholly  untouched. 

We  shall  confine  our  attention,  at  the  present  time,  however,  chiefly 
to  the  two  first  and  completest  divisions  of  this  great  work,  viz.,  to 
the  "Z)e  auymcntis  scientiarum^'  and  the  '■''N'ovum  Organum!'^  But, 
in  order  to  judge  Bacon  aright,  we  must  first  cast  a  glance  at  the  in- 
tellectual character,  not  only  of  the  age  in  which  he  lived,  but  of  the 
centuries  just  preceding. 

We  have  seen  that,  in  those  centuries,  supreme  homage  was  paid 
to  the  word  alone  in  all  books,  in  disputations  and  declamations,  and 
that  thinking  men  displayed  neither  sense  nor  feeling  for  any  thing 
but  language,  deriving  from  this,  and  basing  upon  this,  all  their 
knowledge.  Every  avenue  to  nature,  to  a  direct  and  independent  in- 
vestigation of  the  external  world,  was  closed.  That  gifted  monk, 
Roger  Bacon,  a  most  worthy  predecessor  of  Lord  Bacon,  was,  in  the 
middle  ages,  regarded  as  a  magician  ;  and,  as  a  magician,  suffered  per- 
secution, because  he  was  not  content  to  view  nature  through  the  eyes 
of  Aristotle,  choosing  rather  to  go  himself  to  the  fountain-head  and 
converse  with  her,  face  to  face.  He  maintained  that  men  ought  not 
to  be  satisfied  with  traditional  and  accepted  knowledge.  Reason  and 
experience  were  the  two  sources  of  science ;  but  experience  alone  was 
the  parent  of  a  well-grounded  certainty,  and  this  true  empiricism  had 
hitherto  been  wholly  neglected  by  most  scholars.  That  Roger  Bacon 
did  not  speak  of  experimental  knowledge,  as  a  blind  man  would  dis- 
course of  colors,  is  proved  by  some  remarkable  expressions  of  his,  an- 
ticipatory and  unambiguous,  upon  spectacles,  telescopes,  and  gun- 
powder. But  Roger  stood  alone  in  that  age  of  the  world,  like  a 
solitary  preacher  in  the  desert ;  and  hence  it  was  that  he  was  re- 
garded with  wonder,  as  a  magician,  and  persecuted. 

But  that  which  showed  in  Roger  Bacon  as  mere  anticipation,  and 
obscure  prophecy,  appeared,  after  the  lapse  of  three  hundred  years, 
full-formed  and  clear  in  Francis  Bacon.  Even  as  Luther  came  forth 
to  strip  off'  the  thick  veil  of  human  traditions,  that  had  been  w^oven 
over  the  revelation  of  God  in  the  Holy  Scriptures,  distorting  its  fea- 
tures, concealing  it,  and  even  burying  it  in  oblivion,  for  multitudes  of 
his  fellow  men,  so  did  Bacon  make  war  upon  the  traditions  and  pos- 
tulates of  men,  which  had  quite  darkened  over  the  revelation  of  God, 
in  the  material  world,  lie  wished  men  no  longer  to  put  their  faith 
in  arbitrary  and  fanciful  glosses  upon  this  revelation,  but  to  go  them- 
selves directly  to  its  living  record. 

lie  saw,  moreovei^,  that  the  more  sagacious  intellects  of  his  time 
were  wholly  divorced  from  nature,  and  wedded  to  books  alone;  their 


LORD  BACON.  f!j 

energies  all  expended  upon  words,,  and  belittled  by  the  endless  hair- 
splitting subtleties  of  logic.  He  perceived  that  the  physical  philoso- 
phy current  among  his  contemporaries,  was  gathered  from  Aristotle, 
or  his  disciples ;  and  that  it  no  where  rested  upon  the  solid  basis  of 
nature.  Men  read  in  books  what  authors  said  concerning  stones, 
plants,  animals,  and  the  hke;  but  to  inspect  these  stones,  plants,  and 
animals,  with  their  own  eyes,  was  far  enough  from  their  thoughts. 
And  hence  were  they  compelled  to  defer  to  the  authority  of  these 
authors,  whether  they  would  or  no,  because  the}'  cherished  not  the 
remotest  idea  of  subjecting  these  descriptions  and  recitals  to  the  test 
of  actual  experiment.  Consider,  too,  that  such  test  was  the  more 
needed,  since  these  very  authors  had,  mostly  themselves,  received  their 
information  even  from  third  or  fourth  hands.  We  are  amazed  when 
we  read  the  farrago  of  incredible  and  impossible  stories,  in  which  the 
books  of  natural  history,  especially  those  of  the  middle  ages, 
abounded ;  when  we  contemplate,  for  example,  the  monsters  to  which 
we  are  introduced  in  the  zoologies  of  this  period,  or  the  marvelous 
virtues  which  were  foolishly  claimed  for  various  stones,  &c.  And 
even  if  these  books,  thus  treating  of  nature,  did  contain  many  thincrs 
that  were  true,  yet  it  was  manifest,  that  progress  in  natural  science 
•was  not  to  be  hoped  for,  so  long  as  men  remained  satisfied  with  their 
teachings.  And  how,  I  ask,  could  men  have  been  otherwise  than 
satisfied,  when  they  appeared  not  even  to  realize  the  existence  of  na- 
ture, the  mighty  fountain-head  of  all  authorities. 

'Now,  from  this  unworthy  and  slavish  homage  and  deference  to  au- 
thors, authors  too,  mostly,  with  no  title  to  confidence.  Bacon  purposed 
to  recall  men,  by  inviting  them  to  a  direct  communion  with  the  crea- 
tion around  them,  and  by  pointing  them  to  those  eternal  truths,  whose 
obligation  they  were  bound  humbly  to  acknowledge,  and  yet  whose 
claims  would  never  tarnish  their  honor. 

For  an  implicit  obedience  to  nature  is  attended  with  a  double  re- 
ward, viz.,  an  understanding  of  her  processes  and  dominion  over  her. 
"  Forsooth,"  he  says,  "  we  suffer  the  penalty  of  our  first  parents'  sin, 
and  yet  follow  in  their  footsteps.  They  desired  to  be  like  God,  and 
we,  their  posterity,  would  be  so  in  a  higher  degree.  For  we  create 
worlds,  direct  and  control  nature,  and,  in  short,  square  all  things  by 
the  measure  of  our  own  folly,  not  by  the  plummet  of  divine  wisdom, 
nor  as  we  find  them  in  reality.  I  know  not  whether,  for  this  result, 
we  are  forced  to  do  violence  to  nature  or  to  our  own  intelligence  the 
most ;  but  it  nevertheless  remains  true,  that  we  stamp  the  seal  of  our 
own  image  upon  the  creatures  and  the  works  of  God,  instead  of  care- 
fully searching  for,  and  acknowledging,  the  seal  of  the  Creator,  mans' 
6 


82  LORD  BACON. 

fest  in  tbem.  Therefore  have  we  lost,  the  second  time,  and  that  de- 
servedly, our  empire  over  the  creature ;  yea,  when,  after  and  notwith- 
standing the  fall,  there  was  left  to  us  some  title  to  dominion  over  the 
unwilling  creatures,  so  that  they  could  be  subjected  and  controlled, 
even  this  we  have  lost,  in  great  part,  through  our  pride,  in  that  we 
have  desired  to  be  like  God,  and  to  follow  the  dictates  of  our  own 
reason  alone.  Now  then,  if  there  be  any  humility  in  the  presence 
of  the  Creator,  if  there  be  any  reverence  for,  and  exaltation  of,  his 
handiwork,  if  there  be  any  charity  toward  men,  any  desire  to  relieve 
the  woes  and  sufferings  of  humanity,  any  love  for  the  light  of  truth, 
any  hatred  toward  the  darkness  of  error, — I  would  beseech  men, 
again  and  again,  to  dismiss  altogether,  or  at  least  for  a  moment  to 
put  away,  their  absurd  and  intractable  theories,  which  give  to  assump- 
tions the  dignity  of  hypotheses,  dispense  with  experiment,  and  turn 
them  away  from  the  works  of  God.  Then  let  them  -(vith  teachable 
spirit  approach  the  great  volume  of  the  creation,  patiently  decipher 
its  secret  characters,  and  converse  with  its  lofty  truths ;  so  shall  they 
leave  behind  the  delusive  echoes  of  prejudice,  and  dwell  within  the 
perpetual  outgoings  of  divine  wisdom.  This  is  that  speech,  and  lan- 
guage, whose  lines,  have  gone  out  into  all  the  earth ;  and  no  confu- 
sion of  tongues  has  ever  befallen  it.  This  language  we  should  all 
strive  to  understand  ;  first  condescending,  like  little  children,  to  master 
its  alphabet. '  "  Our  concern  is  not,"  he  says  in  another  place,  "  with 
the  inward  delights  of  contemplation  alone,  but  with  all  human 
affairs  and  fortunes,  yea,  with  the  whole  range  of  man's  activity.  ISor 
man,  the  servant  and  interpreter  of  nature,  obtains  an  intelligent  do- 
minion over  her,  only  in  so  far  as  he  learns  her  goings  on  by  experi- 
ment or  observation ;  more  than  this,  he  neither  knows,  nor  can  he 
do.  For  his  utmost  power  is  inadequate  to  loosen  or  to  break  the 
established  sequence  of  causes ;  nor  is  it  possible  for  him  to  subjugate 
nature,  except  as  he  submits  to  her  bidding.  Hence,  the  twin  desires 
of  man  for  knowledge,  and  for  power,  coincide  in  one ;  and  therefore 
the  ill-success  of  his  operations  springs  mainly  from  his  ignorance  of 
their  essential  causes." 

"This,  then,"  he  continues,  "is  the  substance  of  the  whole  matter, 
that  we  should  fix  the  eyes  of  our  mind  upon  things  themselves,  and 
thereby  form  a  true  conception  of  them.  And  may  God  keep  us 
from  the  great  folly  of  counting  the  visions  of  our  own  fancy  for  the 
types  of  his  creation ;  nay,  rather  may  he  grant  us  the  privilege  of 
tracing  the  revelation  and  true  vision  of  that  seal  and  impress  which 
he  himself  has  stamped  upon  his  creatures."  In  another  place  Bacon 
entreats  men  "for  a  little  space  to  abjure  all  traditional  and  inherited 


LORD  BACON.  83 

views  and  notions,  and  to  come  as  new-born  children,  witli  open  and 
unworn  sense,  to  the  observation  of  nature.  For  it  is  no  less  true  in 
this  human  kingdom  of  knowledge  than  in  God's  kingdom  of  heaven, 
that  no  man  shall  enter  into  it  except  he  become  first  as  a  little  child  ! " 
Man  must  put  himself  again  in  direct,  close,  and  personal  contact  with 
nature,  and  no  longer  trust  to  the  confused,  uncertain,  and  arbitrary 
accounts  and  descriptions  of  her  historians  and  would-be  interpreters. 
From  a  clear  and  correct  observation  and  perception  of  objects,  their 
qualities,  powers,  etc.,  the  investigator  must  proceed,  step  by  step,  till 
he  arrives  at  axioms,  and  at  that  degree  of  insight,  that  will  enable 
him  to  interpret  the  laws,  and  analyze  the  processes  of  nature.  To 
this  end,  Bacon  proffers  to  us  his  new  method,  viz.,  the  method  of  in- 
duction. With  the  aid  of  this  method,  we  attain  to  an  insight  into 
the  connection  and  mutual  relation  of  the  laws  of  matter,  and  thus, 
according  to  him,  we  are  enabled,  through  this  knowledge,  to  make 
nature  subservient  to  our  will. 

"  Natural  philosophy,"  he  says  in  another  place,  "  is  either  specula- 
tive or  operative ;  the  one  is  concerned  with  the  invention  of  causes, 
the  other  with  the  invention  of  new  experiments.  Again,  speculative 
natural  philosophy,  or  theory,  is  divided  into  Physic  and  Metaphysic. 
Natural  history  describes  the  variety  of  things ;  Physic,  the  causes,  bui 
variable  or  respective  causes.  As,  for  instance,  it  seeks  to  know  why 
snow  is  white ;  but  Metaphysic  inquires  after  the  true  nature  of  white- 
ness, not  only  as  it  finds  this  quality  in  snow,  but  also  in  chalk,  silver, 
lilies,  (fee.  Thus  Metaphysic  mounts,  at  last,  to  the  knowledge  of  es- 
sential forms,  or  absolute  differences, — the  Ideas  of  Plato.  These  forms 
constitute  the  ultimate  aim  of  science.  Physic  leads,  through  ac- 
quaintance with  immediate  causes,  to  Mechanic ;  but  Metaphysic,  by 
virtue  of  dealing  with  ultimate  forms,  leads  to  Magic.  Thus  me- 
chanic and  Magic  carry  into  practice  what  Physic  and  Metaphysic  ad- 
vance as  theory.  The  knowledge  of  occult  forms  brings  the  power  to 
work  marvels." 

Natural  philosophy  Bacon  compares  to  a  "pyramid,  whose  basis  is 
Natural  History ;  the  stage  next  the  basis,  is  Physic  branching  into 
Practical  Mechanic ;  the  stage  next  the  vertical  point,  is  Metaphysic. 
As  for  the  vertical  point,  ^Ojms  quod  operatur  Deus a princijno  usque 
ad  finevfiy  the  summary  law  of  nature,  we  know  not  whether  man's 
inquiry  can  attain  unto  it." 

Thus  have  we  given  a  very  general  sketch  of  the  positive  side  f>f  the 
Baconian  philosophy.  Its  gradations  are  as  follows :  beginning  at 
observation  and  experiment,  it  lays  down,  by  a  process  of  induc- 
tion, higher  and  higher  axioms,  till  at  last  it  penetrates  to  essential 


84  LORD  BACON. 

forms,  increasing  insight  adding  ever  new  vigor  and  breadth  to 
experiment. 

But  Bacon  well  knew  that  many  obstacles  stood  in  the  way  of  the 
reception  of  his  new  philosophy,  and  that  he  must  first  remove  these 
obstacles.  The  greater  portion  of  his  ^'■Novum  Organiim'''  is  accord- 
ingly occupied  with  polemics. 

Idols  and  false  notions,  he  says  here,  govern  the  human  under- 
standing to  that  degree  that,  before  the  introduction  of  any  positive 
system  of  truth,  they  must  all  be  cleared  away,  and  men  be  warned 
against  them.     There  are  four  kinds  of  idols. 

Idols  of  the  Tribe ;  or  generic,  and  founded  in  the  universal  nature 
of  mankind. 

Idols  of  the  Cave ;  or  specific,  growing  out  of  the  diversities  of 
individual  character. 

Idols  of  the  Forum ;  or  such  as  proceed  from  the  social  relations 
of  men. 

Idols  of  the  Theater ;  or  those  which  have  been  forced  into  the 
human  mind  by  successive  schools  of  philosophy,  creating,  as  it  were, 
fictitious  or  scenic  representations  of  life. 

I  will  now  extract,  from  Bacon's  exposition  of  these  various  idols, 
some  remarks,  bearing  upon  education,  "  It  is  false,"  he  says,  "  to 
assert  that  our  senses  are  the  ultimate  measure  of  the  world ;  all  the 
perceptions  of  the  senses,  as  well  as  all  the  conceptions  of  the  mind, 
find  their  correspondences  in  the  nature  of  man,  not  in  the  being  of 
the  universe.  The  human  understanding  receives  the  rays  that 
stream  from  created  objects,  as  an  uneven  mirror,  which  mingles  its 
own  nature  with  that  of  the  object  it  reflects,  giving  to  them  false 
shapes  and  colors." 

Bacon  here  disclaims  that  absolute  knowledge  of  objects,  which  pene- 
trates to  the  essence  of  their  being;  for  such  all-sufficient  knowledge 
is  the  prerogative  of  God  alone.  Our  point  of  view  is  forever  outside 
of  the  center  of  the  universe.  But  yet  he  does  not  appear  to  realize 
the  intimate  connection  of  this  view  with  the  fall  of  man,  and  the 
conditions  affixed,  in  consequence  thereof,  to  human  learning.  For 
even  were  the  knowledge  possible  to  man  radical  and  complete,  yet  it 
reaches  only  to  the  border-land,  beyond  which  lie  the  inscrutable 
mysteries  of  the  Deity.  These  mysteries  man  can  prefigure  and  be- 
lieve, but  never  fathom, 

"  The  human  intellect  is  led  by  its  very  essence  to  assume  a  greater 
order  and  equality  in  nature  than  it  actually  finds."  In  another 
place  he  says,  "  The  light  of  the  understanding  is  not  a  clear  light, 
but  it  is  clouded  by  the  will  and  the  affections.     Hence  man  rejects 


LORD  BACON.  o~ 

that  which  is  diflScult,  because  it  calls  for  patient  inquiry  ;  that  which 
is  moderate,  because  it  narrows  his  hopes,  &c."  How  appropriate  is 
this  remark  in  the  education  of  the  young,  and  how  little  is  instruc- 
tion based  upon  just  views  of  the  relation  between  the  will  and  the 
understanding,  and  upon  the  taste  or  distaste  of  pupils  for  given  pur- 
suits ;  and  how  evident  it  is,  that  the  will  must  be  animated  by  the 
conscience,  where  the  gifts  of  intellect  have  been  sparingly  bestowed  ! 

"Some  minds  are  lost  in  admiration  of  antiquity,  others  in  the  pas- 
sion for  novelty,  but  only  the  select  few  are  so  well  balanced  as  to 
keep  a  medium  course,  and  neither  to  pull  down  that  which  has  been 
skilfully  built  up  by  the  ancients,  nor  to  despise  that  which  has  been 
well  done  by  the  moderns." 

This  remark  should  serve  to  encourage  teachers,  e&oecially  at  the 
present  day,  when  a  superstitious  reverence  for  antiquity  is  engaged 
in  active  conflict  with  a  superstitious  regard  for  whatsoever  is  new. 
Further  on,  Bacon  attacks  the  various  philosophies  which  have  been 
in  vogue  at  different  periods.  "  The  devotees  of  science  have  been 
either  empiricists  or  dogmatists.  The  empiricist,  like  ants,  have 
heaped  up  only  that  which  the)'  could  put  to  use;  and  the  dogmat- 
ists, like  spiders,  have  spun  threads  out  of  their  own  bowels.  The 
bees,  on  the  contrary,  hold  a  course  midway  between  these  two ;  for 
they  sip  of  the  flowers  of  the  field  and  garden,  and  the  nature  of 
these  they  change  and  distil,  by  virtue  of  the  force  that  is  in  them. 
So  a  true  philosophy  is  not  efi"ective  alone,  or  chiefly,  by  the  power  of' 
thought  which  it  contains,  nor  does  it  proceed  out  of  a  memory  filled 
with  the  results  of  observation  and  experiment,  but  all  its  stores  are 
changed  and  assimilated  by  the  understanding."  He  likewise  cen- 
sures "  an  undue  respect  for  authorities,  and  that  too  common  error 
of  opinion,  that  nothing  new  remains  to  be  found  out."  lie  con- 
demns sin  as  the  bane  of  all  knowledge.  He  says,  "  men  have  entered 
into  a  desire  of  learning  and  knowledge,  not  for  the  benefit  and  use 
of  their  fellows,  but  from  a  natural  curiosity  and  inquisitive  appetite, 
for  victory  of  wit  and  contradiction,  or  for  lucre  and  profession." 
Most  sharply  does  he  castigate  liars.  "  Knowledge  is  nothing  else 
than  a  representation  of  truth ;  for  the  truth  of  being  and  the  truth 
of  knowing  are  one,  differing  no  more  than  the  direct  beam  and  the 
beam  reflected." 

Highly  instructive  to  us  also  are  his  repeated  attacks  upon  the 
Greeks.  "  The  wisdom  of  the  Greeks,"  he  says,  "  was  rhetorical,  ex- 
pended itself  ujion  words,  and  had  little  to  do  with  the  search  after 
truth."  Their  philosophers,  according  to  him,  even  Plato  and  Aris- 
totle, were  altogether  sophists  ;  a  few  of  the  graver  and  more  earnest 


so  LORD  BACON. 

spirits  of  an  earlier  period,  like  Empedocles,  Anaxagoras,  (fee,  ex- 
cepted. True,  indeed,  was  that  saying  of  the  Egyptian  priests, 
"  the  Greeks  continue  children  forever,  having  neither  an  antiquity 
of  science,  nor  a  science  of  antiquity.  For  they  have  the  nature  of 
boys,  inasmuch  as  they  are  full  of  loquacity,  but  incapable  of  repro- 
duction, and  their  wisdom  is  therefore  rich  in  words  but  poor  in 
deeds." 

Elsewhere,  he  says,  "  To  speak  truly,  '  antiquitas  seculi,  juventus 
mundi,'  and  these  times  are  the  ancient  times,  when  the  ivorld  is  an- 
cient. Hence  those  elder  generations  fell  short  of  many  of  our  pres- 
ent knowledges ;  they  knew  but  a  small  part  of  the  world,  and  but  a 
brief  period  of  history  ;  we,  on  the  contrary,  are  acquainted  with  a 
far  greater  extent  of  the  old  world,  besides  having  uncovered  a  new 
hemisphere,  and  we  look  back  and  survey  long  periods  of  history." 

This  passage  is  the  embodiment  of  that  ultra  anti -classical  view, 
against  which,  in  Bacon's  own  day,  Bodley,  and,  in  our  own  times, 
Goethe,  have  so  earnestly  protested.  How  prejudicial  to  the  cause 
of  education  it  must  be  we  can  readily  imagine,  for  it  sounds  in  our 
ears  with  the  authority  of  a  voice  from  the  past,  cheering  on  our  nar- 
row-minded realists  in  their  opposition  to  the  study  of  the  ancients. 

But  though  it  is  not  possible  for  us  entirely  to  exculpate  Bacon  in 
this  his  judgment  of  antiquity,  yet,  in  strict  justice,  we  ought  to  make 
all  due  allowance  for  his  point  of  view.  His  was  the  philosophy  of 
nature;  a  knowledge  of  nature,  and  power  over  her  by  virtue  of  that 
knowledge,  were  his  aim.  "  What  have  the  ancients  done  in  this 
particular,"  he  asked ;  but  gave  no  thought  to  Homer,  Sophocles, 
Demosthenes,  and  Phidias ;  and  seeing,  as  in  a  vision,  the  air-pumps, 
electric  telegraj)hs,  and  steam-engines,  the  seventy-eight  thousand 
species  of  animals,  the  seventy-eight  thousand  species  of  plants,  of  our 
day, — seeing  all  these  rewards  of  knowledge  and  power,  which  were 
to  flow  from  the  adoption  of  his  method,  he  looked  upon  the  ancients 
with  indifference.  But  even  from  this  point  of  view,  he  should  have 
conceded  to  them  far  more  than  he  did.  It  is  enough  that  we  men- 
tion the  determinations  of  latitude  and  longitude,  the  length  of  a 
meridian,  the  precession  of  the  equinoxes ;  enough  that  we  speak  of 
the  great  Hipparchus,  of  Archimedes,  and  Apollonius  of  Perga,  of 
Hippocrates,  of  Aristotle's  "  History  of  Animals,"  and  the  "  Garden  of 
Plants"  of  Theophrastus.  And  how  much  more  could  I  bring  for- 
ward in  proof  of  the  g^reatness  of  the  Greeks,  even  in  natural  philos- 
ophy !  And,  more  than  all,  what  shall  we  say  of  those  great  funda- 
mental thoughts,  which  have  tested  the  human  intellect  foi  more  than 
two  thousand  years  ? 


LORD  BACON.  87 

Bacon's  hostility  to  Aristotle  was  mainly  to  be  ascribed  to  the 
scholastics,  who  called  themselves  his  disciples,  though  their  master's 
works  were  not  known  to  them,  save  through  the  medium  of  unfaith- 
ful translations.  He  concedes  to  them  "sharp  wit"  indeed,  but  adds 
"  that  it  only  worked  upon  itself,  as  the  spider  worketh  her  web,  and 
brought  forth  mere  cobwebs  of  learning,  and  nothing  more." 

But  we  find  him  no  more  favorable  to  the  anti-scholastics,  whom 
we  may  style  the  philologists  of  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centu- 
ries. "  At  the  time  of  Martin  Luther,  an  atfected  study  of  eloquence 
began  to  flourish.  There  arose  a  great  enmity  and  opposition  to  the 
scholastics,  because  they  considered  no  whit  the  pureness  of  their 
style,  but  took  the  liberty  to  coin  and  frame  new  and  barbarous  terms 
of  art,  to  express  their  own  sense,  and  to  avoid  circuit  of  speech. 
This  enmity  speedily  ended  in  producing  the  opposite  extreme  ;  for 
men  began  to  hunt  more  after  words  than  matter,  and  more  after  the 
choiceness  of  the  phrase,  and  the  round  and  clean  composition  of  the 
sentence,  than  after  the  weight  of  matter,  soundness  of  argument, 
life  of  invention,  or  depth  of  judgment.  Then  did  Sturmius  spend 
such  infinite  and  curious  pains  upon  Cicero  and  Hermogenes.  Then 
did  Erasmus  take  occasion  to  make  the  scoffing  echo,  '■Decern  annos 
consumpsi  in  legendo  Cicerone,^  and  the  echo  answered  in  Greek, 
'  'Ov£,'  asine.'"  "  In  sum,"  he  concludes,  "  the  whole  inclination  and 
bent  of  those  times  was  rather  toward  copia  than  weight." 

We  have  now  sufficiently  characterized  Bacon's  polemics.  The  fore- 
going paragraph  proves  that  he  regarded  what  the  philologists  of  the 
sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries  styled  realism,  as  wholly  distinct 
from  the  realism  that  his  philosophy  required.  This  latter  I  have 
ventured  to  call  "  real  realism,''  in  contrast  with  the  verbal  realism  of 
the  philologists,  who  knew  roses  and  wine  only  as  they  were  described 
in  the  verses  of  Anacreon  and  Horace. 

Though  there  were  many  before  Bacon,  especially  artists  and  crafts- 
men, who  lived  in  communion  with  nature,  and  who,  in  manifold 
ways,  transfigured  and  idealized  her,  and  unveiled  her  glory ;  and 
though  their  sense  for  nature  was,  in  a  measure,  highly  cultivated,  so 
that  they  attained  to  a  practical  understanding  of  her  ways,  yet  this 
understanding  of  theirs  was,  so  to  speak,  at  its  highest,  merely  in- 
stinctive ;  for  it  led  them  to  no  scientific  deductions,  and  yielded 
them  no  thoughtful,  sure,  and  legitimate  dominion  over  her. 

To  the  scholars  of  that  day  Bacon's  doctrine  was  wholly  new.  It 
summoned  them  to  leave  for  a  while  their  books,  which  had  been 
their  vital  element, — 

"And  with  untrammeled  thiiught 
To  talk  with  nature,  face  to  face." 


83  LORD  BACON. 

Thus  Bacon  was  tlie  father  of  tlie  modern  iv>Jists,  and,  as  I  shall 
take  occasion  to  show  hereafter,  of  realistic  princii)les  of  instruction. 
Traces,  moreover,  are  to  be  found  ih  him  of  the  harsh  and  repulsive 
features  which  characterize  our  modern  matter-of-fact  philosophy. 
As  an  instance  in  point,  consider  the  sentence  which  he  pronounced 
against  the  ancients ;  how  he  weighed  them  in  the  scales  of  his  own 
philosophy,  and  found  them  wanting ;  how  low  an  estimate  he  set 
upon  what  they  did  bring  to  pass,  counting  it  all  as  the  result  of  pure 
accident,  because  not  arrived  at  by  means  of  systematic  induction. 
The  exquisite  sense  of  beauty,  and  the  high  culture  of  art  of  the  an- 
cients, seemed,  in  fact,  to  have  been  wholly  ignored  by  the  prosaic 
Bacon,  as  it  is  by  the  realists  of  the  present  age. 

His  method  itself,  likewise,  and  still  more  that  which  by  virtue  of 
this  method  he  accomplished,  in  the  way  of  observation  and  experi- 
ment, are  open  to  many  objections.  He  tells  us  that  he  is  about  to 
wed  the  human  intellect  to  nature,  and  on  this  announcement  we 
look  to  see  a  joyful  marriage  and  a  union  of  love.  But,  instead  of 
this,  he  presents  us  with  a  slow  and  wearisome  plan  of  a  siege,  for  the 
reduction  of  the  stronghold  of  nature,  whom  he  apparently  desires  us 
to  starve  into  a  surrender.  For  proof  of  this  we  need  only  turn  to 
his  '■'History  of  the  Winds,''''  written  upon  this  plan,  to  say  nothing 
of  numerous  kindred  paragraphs,  scattered  throughout  the  second 
book  of  his  '■'■Novuin  OryanumP  He  had  evidently  convinced  him- 
self that,  with  the  aid  of  his  method  of  induction,  men  could  as  in- 
telligently and  surely  advance  to  the  accomplishment  of  their  aims,  in 
the  subjection  of  nature,  as  an  able  general  predicts,  to  a  certainty, 
that  a  fortress,  to  which  he  has  laid  siege,  will  surrender  within  a 
given  time.  If  earlier  observers,  without  such  method,  had  made 
any  progress  in  the  investigation  of  nature,  this,  according  to  Bacon, 
should  be  ascribed  to  accident.  "  But  this  method  makes  us  inde- 
pendent of  accident,  for  it  is  all-comprehending  and  infallible.  Nay, 
it  is  a  way  in  which  the  blind  can  not  err,  a  way  too  which  places 
the  man  of  humble  capacity  on  a  level  with  the  genius." 

These  words  appear  addressed  to  us  by  Pestalozzi  and  the  Pesta- 
lozzians.  But  such  a  view  is  derogatory  to  the  gifts  which  God  has 
lavished  upon  his  chosen  children.  What  though  Bacon,  by  the  use 
of  his  method,  has  built  a  solid  waggon  track  to  Helicon  ?  The  soar- 
ing intellects  of  a  Kepler  and  a  Galileo  need  no  such  beaten  course ; 
they  are  already  upon  the  mountain-top,  before  the  waggoners  are 
ready  to  set  forth. 

This  anti-genial  element  of  the  Baconian  method  Goethe  has 
treated  with  a  well-merited  severity.     When  a  man  of  fertile  imagin- 


LORD  BACON.  gg 

ation  and  keen  insight  fixes  his  attention  upon  one  important  fact, 
seizes  the  law  revealed  therein,  and  holds  fast  that  law,  the  results 
that  he  brings  to  pass  are  more  far-reaching  in  their  scope  and  influ- 
ence, than  when  an  adust  and  hackneyed  plodder,  wearys  himself 
through  long  years  in  a  methodical  heaping  together  of  myriads  of 
isolated  and  less  important  facts,  without  once  detecting  the  charac- 
ter and  essence  of  the  simplest  of  them  all.  For  consider  how  truth 
flashed  in  upon  the  mind  of  Galileo,  while  watching  the  vibrations 
of  a  pendant  chandelier,  "a  striking  proof,"  says  Goethe,  "that  for 
the  man  of  genius,  one  fact  is  better  than  a  thousand."  For,  accord- 
ing to  him,  in  scientific  researches  every  thing  depends  on  what  may 
be  styled  the  "  aperQU,"  or  the  instantaneous,  intuitive  recognition  of 
the  principle  that  underlies  a  given  phenomenon. 

But  some  one  will  ask,  "  do  you  then  reject  Bacon's  method  of  in- 
duction in  all  its  particulars  ?"  By  no  means.  It  is  only  this  idea 
of  an  equalizing  scale  applied  to  the  mind,  and  his  view  that  there  is 
no  other  road  to  knowledge  than  the  one  that  he  has  marked  out, 
that  merit  our  reproof 

In  fact,  Bacon  himself,  with  a  most  happy  inconsistency,  often  em- 
ploys expressions  that  disarm  all  attack.  For  instance,  take  the  fol- 
lowing :  "  When  a  man  brings  to  the  contemplation  of  nature  an  open 
sense  and  a  mind  that  is  unentangled  by  the  prejudices  of  tradition, 
he  needs  no  such  method."  The  favorites  of  fortune,  the  miracle- 
workers,  as  Luther  calls  them,  are  gifted  with  this  unclouded  vision ; 
to  this  class  Goethe  himself  belonged.  With  a  lively  sensibility,  a 
refined  organism,  and  a  passionate  love  for  nature,  he  needed  not  that 
any  should  say  to  him, 'open  thine  eyes  and  look  around  thee.' 
To  him,  the  author  of  the  lines, 

"  Nature  is  good  and  kind 
Wlio  clasps  me  to  her  breast," 

a  marriage  between  the  soul  and  the  outward  world  was  already  a 
settled  fact.  "They  that  are  whole  need  not  a  physician.''  But 
these  miracle-workers  are,  alas,  too  rare;  and  most  men  must  make 
use  of  a  method  which  shall  stimulate  their  sluggish  spirits  into  life 
and  energy. 

As  it  regards  the  manner  in  which  Bacon  illustrated  liis  method, 
as  in  the  "  History  of  the  Winds"  so  severely  commented  upon  by 
Goethe,  he  should  be  judged,  in  a  measure,  by  the  general  tone  of 
natural  science  in  his  own  age.  To  Goethe's  eloquent  apology  for 
"  aper<7us"  or  intuitive  perceptions.  Bacon  might  have  replied,  "your 
principles  underlying  phenomena,  are  what  I  have  denominated 
'  forms,' which  I  nevertheless   can  not  unveil   by  means  of  a  single 


90 


LORD  BACON. 


fact  taken  symbolically,  but  oaly  by  induction,  by  a  comparison  of 
many  facta,  representing  the  varied  shapes  of  one  and  the  same 
Proteus." 

In  short,  despite  the  objectionable  manner  in  which  Bacon,  here 
and  there,  endeavored,  in  the  <;oncrete,  to  maintain,  realize,  and  prove 
the  deep  and  solid  foundation-principles  which  he  advanced,  the 
truth  of  those  principles  remains  yet  unassailed ;  and,  like  a  vital  germ, 
they  have  grown,  and  are  bearing  fruit  even  to  the  present  day. 
Bacon  originated  no  school,  but  something  greater  and  wider  in  its 
scope.  He  was  the  founder  of  the  direct  mode  of  questioning  na- 
ture, a  mode  open  alike  to  all,  whatever  their  talent  or  abilities.  He 
•was,  as  we  have  before  intimated,  the  creator  of  the  practical  experi- 
mentalism  of  the  present  day,  which  explores  the  world  for  material 
to  work  up  into  manufactured  fabrics,  and  to  him  may  be  ascribed 
the  present  prevailing  tendency,  of  the  English  nation  especially,  to 
utilitarianism,  to  that  perfect  subjection  of  nature,  by  the  aid  of 
science,  that  will  lead  men  finally  to  a  true  rational  magic. 

*  *  *  *  *  *  * 

I  have  now  endeavored  to  present  a  brief  abstract  of  Bacon's  phi- 
losophy. I  have  also  occasionally  adverted  to  the  influence  which  it 
has  exerted  upon  mental  culture,  and,  as  a  consequence,  upon  meth- 
ods of  instruction ;  an  influence  which,  at  the  distance  of  two  centu- 
ries, is  still  in  the  ascendant.  .  But  there  are  also  many  passages  in 
the  "  De  auymentis  scientiarunC  which  have  a  direct  bearing  upon 
education.  Of  this  nature  is  the  second  chapter  of  the  Sixth  Book, 
in  which  he  treats  of  "  prudentia  traditiva,"  or  knowledge  dehvered, 
and  characterizes  various  methods  of  teaching.  He  gives  the  prefer- 
ence to  the  genetic  method,  where  the  teacher  "  transplants  knowl- 
edge into  the  scholar's  mind,  as  it  grew  in  his  own."  Whatever  is 
imparted  in'  this  way,  will  take  root,  flourish,  and  bear  fruit.  He 
commends  aphorisms  :  "For  rejiresentinga  knowledge  broken,  they  do 
invite  men  to  inquire  farther;  whereas  systems,  carrying  a  show  of  a 
total,  do  secure  men  as  if  they  were  at  farthest."  "Methods  should 
vary  according  to  the  subject  to  be  taught,  for  in  knowledge  itself 
there  is  great  diversity." 

In  one  place  he  treats  most  strenuously  and  earnestly  of  the  im- 
portance of  education.  "A  gardener,"  he  says,  "  takes  more  pains 
with  the  young  than  with  the  full-grown  plant;  and  men  commonly 
find  it  needful,  in  any  undertaking,  to  begin  well.  We  give  scarce 
a  thought  to  our  teachers,  and  care  little  for  what  they  may  be,  and 
yet  we  are  forever  complaining,  because  rulers  are  rigid  in  the  matter 


LORD  BACON.  gj 

of  laws  and  penalties,  but  indifferent  to  the  right  training  of  the 
young." 

To  this  Bacon  adds  a  panegyric  upon  the  schools  of  the  Jesuits, 
by  way  of  introduction  to  another  paragraph  on  education.  It  is  as 
follows : — 

"As  it  regards  teaching,  this  is  the  sum  of  all  direction  :  take  ex- 
ample by  the  schools  of  the  Jesuits ;  for  better  do  not  exist.  How- 
ever, I  will  add,  according  to  my  wont,  a  few  scattered  thoughts  on 
this  head.  Collegiate  training  for  young  men  and  boys  excels,  in  my 
opinion,  that  of  the  family  or  of  the  school.  For  not  only  are  greater 
incentives  to  action  to  be  found  at  colleges,  but  there  too  the  young 
have  ever  before  their  eyes  men  of  dignified  bearing  and  superior 
scholarship,  who  command  their  respect,  and  whom  they  grow  insens- 
ibly to  imitate.  In  short,  there  is  hardly  a  particular  in  which  col- 
leges do  not  excel.  In  regard  to  the  course  and  order  of  instruction, 
my  chief  counsel  would  be  to  avoid  all  digests  and  epitomes  of  learn- 
ing; for  they  are  a  species  of  imposture,  giving  men  the  means  to 
make  a  show  of  learning,  who  have  it  not.  Moreover,  the  natural 
bent  of  individual  minds  should  be  so  fir  encouraged,  that  a  scholar, 
who  shall  learn  all  that  is  required  of  him,  may  be  allowed  time  in 
which  to  pursue  a  favorite  study.  And  furthermore,  it  is  worth 
while  to  consider,  and  I  think  this  point  has  not  hitherto  received  the 
attention  that  its  importance  demands,  that  there  are  two  distinct 
modes  of  training  the  mind  to  a  free  and  appropriate  use  of  its  Ac- 
uities. The  one  begins  with  the  easiest,  and  so  proceeds  to  the  more 
difficult ;  the  other,  at  the  outset,  presses  the  pupil  with  the  more 
difficult  tasks,  and,  after  he  has  mastered  these,  turns  hiin  to  pleas- 
anter  and  easier  ones:  for  it  is  one  method  to  practice  swimming 
with  bladders,  and  another  to  practice  dancing  with  heavy  shoes. 
It  is  beyond  all  estimate,  how  much  a  judicious  blending  of  these 
two  methods  will  profit  both  the  mental  and  the  bodily  powers.  And 
so  to  select  and  assign  topics  of  instruction,  as  to  adapt  them  to  the 
individual  capabilities  of  the  pupils, — this,  too,  requires  a  special  ex- 
perience and  judgment.  A  close  observation  and  an  accurate  knowl- 
edge of  the  diflierent  natures  of  pupils  is  due  from  teachers  to  the  pa- 
rents of  these  pupils,  that  they  may  choose  an  occupation  in  life  for 
their  sons  accordingly.  And  note  further,  that  not  only  does  every 
one  make  more  rapid  progress  in  those  studies  to  which  his  nature 
inclines  him,  but  again  that  a  natural  disinclination,  in  whatever  di- 
rection, may  be  overcome  by  the  help  of  special  studies.  For  in- 
stance, if  a  boy  has  a  light,  inattentive,  and  inconstant  spirit,  so  that 
he  is  easily  diverted,  and   his  attention  can  not  be  readily  fixed,  he 


92  LORD  BACON. 

will  fiinl  advantage  iu  the  mathematics,  in  which  a  demonstration 
must  be  commenced  anew  whenevei*  the  thoughts  wander  even  for  a 
moment. 

These  cautions  respecting  mental  training  may  not,  at  the  first 
glance,  appear  to  abound  either  in  weight  or  wisdom;  but,  acted  on, 
they  are  both  fruitful  and  efficient.  For  as  the  wronging  or  cherish- 
ing of  seeds  or  young  plants  is  that,  that  is  most  important  to  their 
thriving,  and  as  it  was  noted  that  the  first  six  kings,  being  in  truth 
as  tutoi's  of  the  state  of  Rome  in  the  infancy  thereof,  was  the  princi- 
pal cause  of  the  eminent  greatness  of  that  state  which  followed ;  so 
the  culture  and  manurance  of  minds  in  youth  hath  such  a  forcible, 
though  unseen  operation,  as  hardly  any  length  of  time  or  contention 
of  labor  can  countervail  it  afterward.  And  it  is  not  amiss  to  observe 
how  small  and  mean  faculties,  gotten  by  education,  yet  when  they 
fall  into  great  men  or  great  matters,  do  work  great  and  important 
eflfects,  whereof  I  will  give  a  notable  example.  And  the  rather,  as  I 
find  that  the  Jesuits  also  have  not  neglected  the  cultivation  of  these 
lesser  graces  of  the  scholar,  in  which,  as  it  seems  to  me,  they  have 
shown  sound  judgment.  I  speak  of  that  art  which,  followed  for  a 
livelihood,  brings  reproach,  but,  used  in  education,  does  the  best  of 
service, — I  mean  the  acting  of  plays.  This  strengthens  the  memory, 
gives  volume  to  the  voice,  power  to  the  expression,  ease  to  the  bear- 
ing, grace  to  the  gestures,  and  imparts  a  wonderful  degree  of  self- 
confidence,  thus  thoroughly  fitting  young  men  for  the  demands  of  a 
public  career.  Tacitus  relates  that  a  certain  stage-player,  Vibulenus, 
by  his  faculty  of  playing,  put  the  Panonnian  armies  into  an  extreme 
tumult  and  combustion.  For  there  arising  a  mutiny  among  them, 
upon  the  death  of  Augustus  Caisar,  BL'esus,  the  lieutenant,  had  com- 
mitted some  mutineers,  which  were  suddenly  rescued ;  whereupon 
Vibulenus  got  to  be  heard  speak,  which  he  did  in  this  manner : 
'These  ])Oor  innocent  wretches,  appointed  to  cruel  death,  you  have 
restored  to  behold  the  light ;  but  who  shall  restore  my  brother  to  me, 
or  life  unto  my  brother,  that  was  sent  hither  in  message  from  the  le- 
gions of  Germany,  to  treat  of  the  common  cause  ?  And  he  liath 
murdered  him  this  last  night  by  some  of  liis  fencers  and  ruffians,  that 
lie  hath  about  him  for  his  executioners  upon  soldiers.  Answer,  Blse- 
sus,  what  is  done  with  his  body  ?  The  mortalest  enemies  do  not 
deny  burial ;  when  I  have  performed  my  last  duties  to  the  corpse, 
with  kisses,  with  tears,  command  me  to  be  slain  besides  him,  so  that 
these  my  fellows,  for  our  good  meaning,  and  our  true  hearts  to  the 
legions,  may  have  leave  to  bury  us.'  With  which  s|teech  he  put  the 
army  into  an  infinite  fury  and  uproar ;  whereas  truth  was,  he  had  no 


LORD  BACON.  93 

brother,  neither  was  there  any  such  matter,  but  he  played  it  merely 
as  if  he  had  been  upon  the  stage." 

It  should  be  understood,  however,  that  this  passage  on  education 
is  isolated,  and  by  no  means  in  connection  with  the  general  phi- 
losophical system  of  Bacon.  It  is  surprising  that  the  man  who  said, 
"It  is  no  less  true  in  this  human  kingdom  of  knowledge  than  in  God's 
kingdom  of  heaven,  that  no  man  shall  enter  into  it,  except  he  become 
first  as  a  Httle  child,"  did  not  adhere  to  this  sentiment,  and  carry  it 
into  all  his  speculations.  When  he  taught  that  "  men  must  abjure 
all  traditional  and  inherited  views  and  notions,  so  that  with  an  open 
and  unworn  sense  they  might  come  to  the  observation  of  nature,"  why 
did  he  not  apply  his  doctrine  to  that  class,  who  know  nothing  by  tra- 
dition, and  who  have  nothing  to  unlearn, — I  mean  to  children  ?  Why 
did  he  not  build  anew  the  science  of  education  upon  the  solid  basis 
of  realism  ?  Instead  of  this,  we  find  nothing  but  an  ill-assorted  far- 
rago of  good,  bad,  and  indifferent.  I  have  already  expressed  my 
disapproval  of  the  pernicious  influence  of  the  educational  tenets  of 
the  Jesuits,  which  Bacon  so  highly  recommends,  especially  their  ^;rj- 
mum  mobile,  the  principle  of  emulation.  Much  might  be  urged  also 
against  some  of  the  features  of  seminaries  and  colleges.  His  advoca- 
cy of  theatrical  representations  in  schools  is,  singularly  enough,  sup- 
ported by  the  above  example  from  Tacitus  ;  which,  more  nearly  consid- 
ered, is  truly  hideous,  an  example  of  a  stage-player,  who,  in  the  reign 
of  Tiberius,  with  the  aid  of  surpassing  eloquence,  palmed  off  upon 
the  Pannonian  legions  a  wholesale  lie,  and  so  instigated  them  to  a 
rebellion  against  their  general.  But  he  forgot  to  add,  that  Drusus 
most  fitly  recompensed  the  ill-omened  orator  for  his  all  too  potent 
speech  with  the  loss  of  his  head.  Why  did  not  Bacon,  keen  as  he 
ordinarily  proved  himself  in  argument,  rather  use  this  example  to 
condemn  theatrical  representations  in  schools,  inasmuch  as  these  rep- 
resentations very  often  pass  from  a  mimic  jest  into  a  too  serious  fa- 
miliarity with  lies  and  deceit  ? 

Meanwhile  some  of  his  views  in  the  passage  above  quoted,  as, 
against  over  hasty  methods  of  imparting  instruction,  in  favor  of  a  ju- 
dicious interchange  between  the  easier  and  the  more  difficult  branch- 
es of  learning,  and  the  like,  are  timely  and  encouraging. 

But,  though  these  doctrines  insure  their  own  reception,  we  ought 
not  too  hastily  to  conclude  that  Bacon's  highest  claims  in  t!ie  cause 
of  education  are  based  upon  them.  These  claims  proceed  much 
rather  from  the  fact,  which  I  can  not  too  often  repeat,  that  he  was  the 
first  to  break  out  of  the  beaten  track,  and  to  address  scholars,  who 
lived  and  moved  in  the  languages  and  writings  of  antiquity,  yea,  who 


94  LORD  BACON. 

were  mostly  echoes  of  the  old  Greeks  and  Romans,  and  who  had  no 
higher  ambition  than  to  be  so, — to  address  them  in  such  language  as 
the  following :  "Be  not  wrapped  up  in  the  past,  there  is  an  actual 
present  lying  all  about  you;  look  up  and  behold  it  in  its  grandeur. 
Turn  away  from  the  broken  cisterns  of  traditional  science,  and  quaff 
the  pure  waters  that  flow  sparkling  and  fresh  forever  from  the  un- 
fathomable fountain  of  the  creation.  Go  to  nature  and  listen  to  her 
many  voices,  consider  her  ways  and  learn  her  doings ;  so  shall  you 
bend  her  to  your  will.     For  knowledge  is  power." 

These  doctrines  have  exerted  an  incalculable  influence,  especially 
in  England,  where  theoretical  and  practical  natural  philosophy  are,  in 
the  manner  indicated  by  Bacon,  united,  and  where  this  union  has 
been  marvelously  fruitful  of  results.  Their  influence,  moreover,  may 
be  traced,  at  quite  an  early  period,  in  the  department  of  education. 
The  first  teacher  who  imbibed  the  views  of  Bacon  was,  most  proba- 
bly, Ratich.  But  we  have  the  distinct  acknowledgment  from 
that  most  eminent  of  the  teachers  of  the  seventeenth  century,  Co- 
menius,  of  his  indebtedness  to  Bacon.  In  the  year  1633,  he  brought 
out  a  work  upon  natural  philosophy  ;  and,  in  the  preface  to  this  work, 
he  adverted  to  his  own  obligations  to  Bacon.  He  here  called  the 
^^ Instatiratio  Magna^''  "a  most  admirable  book.  I  regard  it  as  the 
most  brilliant  of  the  philosophical  works  of  the  present  century.  I  am 
disappointed,  however,  that  the  keen-eyed  Verulam,  after  furnishing 
us  with  the  true  key  to  nature,  has  not  hifnself  opened  her  mysteries, 
but  has  only  showed  us  by  a  few  examples  how  they  may  be  opened, 
and  so  left  the  task  to  future  generations."  In  another  paragraph  he 
says:  "Do  not  we,  as  well  as  the  ancients,  live  in  the  garden  of  na- 
ture ?  Why  then  should  not  we,  as  well  as  they,  use  our  eyes  and 
our  ears  ?  Why  must  we  learn  the  works  of  nature  from  any  other 
teachers  than  these,  our  senses  ?  Why,  I  ask,  shall  we  not  throw 
aside  our  dead  books,  and  read  in  that  living  volume  around  us,  in 
which  vastly  more  is  contained  than  it  is  possible  for  any  man  to  re- 
cord ;  especially  too  that  the  pleasure  and  the  profit  t^  come  from  its 
perusal  are  both  so  much  the  greater  ?  In  experience  too,  we  are  so 
many  centuries  in  advance  of  Aristotle." 

With  this  eminent  examj)le  of  Bacon's  influence  in  the  department 
of  instruction,  I  shall  close.  Were  I  to  cite  additional  instances,  1 
should  be  compelled  to  anticipate  much  of  the  following  history.  In 
this,  the  connection  of  our  modern  realists,  their  schools  of  industry, 
polytechnic  schools,  and  the  Hke,  with  the  doctrines  of  Bacon,  will  be 
so  abundantly  and  so  repeatedly  demonstrated,  as  to  justify  me  in 
styling  him  the  founder  and  originator  of  modern  reahsm,  and  of 
realistic  principles  of  instruction. 


LORD  BACON  ON  EDUCATION  AND  STUDIES. 

WITH    ANNOTATIONS   OF   ARCHBISHOP    WHATELY. 


ESSAY    XXXIX.       OF    CUSTOM    AND    EDUCATION. 

Men's  thoughts  are  much  according  to  their  inclination  ;  their  discourse 
and  speeches  according  to  their  learning  and  infused  opinions  ;  but  their 
deeds  are  after^  as'  they  have  been  accustomed :  and  therefore,  as  Machiavcl 
well  noteth  (though  in  an  evil-favored  instance,)  there  is  no  trusting  to  the 
force  of  nature,  nor  to  the  bravery  of  words,  except  it  be  corroborate'  by 
custom.  His  instance  is,  that  for  the  achieving  of  a  desperate  conspiracy, 
a  man  should  not  rest  upon  the  fierceness  of  any  man's  nature,  or  his 
resolute  undertakings,  but  take  such  a  one  as  hath  had  his  hands  formerly 
in  blood :  but  Machiavel  knew  not  of  a  friar  Clement,  nor  a  Ravillac,  nor 
a  Jaureguy,  nor  a  Baltazar  Gerard  ;  yet  his  rule  holdeth  still,  that  nature, 
nor  the  engagement  of  words,  are  not^  so  forcible  as  custom.  Only  super- 
stition is  now  so  well  advanced,  that  men  of  the  first  blood  are  as  firm  as 
butchers  by  occupation ;  and  votary^  resolution  is  made  equipollent  to 
custom,  even  in  matter  of  blood.  In  other  things,  the  predofninancy  of 
custom  is  every  where  visible,  insomuch  as  a  man  would  wonder  to  hear 
men  profess,  protest,  engage,  give  great  words,  and  then  do  just  as  they 
have  done  before,  as  if  they  were  dead  images  and  engines,  moved  only 
by  the  wheels  of  custom.  We  see  also  the  reign  or  tyranny  of  custom, 
what  it  is.  The  Indians  (I  mean  the  sect  of  their  wise  men,)  lay  them- 
selves quietly  upon  a  stack  of  wood,  and  so  sacrifice  themselves  by  fire : 
nay,  the  wives  strive  to  be  burned  with  the  corpse  of  their  husbands. 
The  lads  of  Sparta,^  of  ancient  time,  were  wont  to  be  scourged  upon  the 
altar  of  Diana,  without  so  much  asqueching.'  I  remember,  in  the  begin- 
ning of  Queen  Elizabeth's  time  of  England,  an  Irish  rebel  condemned,  put 

1.  After.  According  to.  ''That  ye  seek  not  after  your  own  heart." — Num.,  xv  :  39.  "He 
who  wa.s  of  the  bondwoman  was  born  after  the  flesh." — Gal,  iv:  23.  "  Deal  not  with  uj 
after  our  sins  " — Litany. 

2.  As.     That.    See  page  23. 

3.  Corroborate.     Corroborated ;  strengthened ;  made  Jinn. 

"  His  heart  is  corroborate." — Shakespeare. 

4.  Nor — Are  not.    This  double  negative  is  used  frequently  by  old  writers. 

"Nor  to  no  Roman  else." — Shakespeare. 

"Another  sort  there  be,  that  will 

Be  talking  of  the  fairies  still, 

Nor  never  can  they  have  their  fill." — Drafton. 

5.  Votary.     Conteerated  by  a  vow. 

6.  Cic.   Tuseul.  Dial.,  ii :  14. 

7.  Quech  (properly  quich.)     To  move;  to  sttr. 

•'■  Underre  her  feet,  there  as  she  sate, 

An  huge  great  lyon  laye,  that  mote  appalU 

An  hardy  courage  ;  like  captived  thrall 

With  a  strong  iron  chain  and  collar  bounde — 

Not  once  he  could  nor  move  nor  quich." — Spenur. 


96 


LORD  BACON. 


up  a  petition  to  the  deputy  that  he  might  be  hanged  in  a  withe,'  and  not 
in  a  halter,  because  it  had  been  so  used  with  former  rebels.  There  be 
monks  in  Russia,  for  penance,  that  will  sit  a  whole  night  in  a  vessel  of 
water,  till  they  be  engaged  with  hard  ice. 

Many  examples  may  be  put  of  the  force  of  custom,  both  upon  mind 
and  body ;  therefore,  since  custom  is  the  principal  magistrate  of  man's 
life,  let  men  by  all  means  endeavor  to  obtain  good  customs.  Certainly, 
custom  is  most  perfect  when  it  beginneth  in  young  years :  this  we  call 
education,  which  is,  in  eflfect,  butan  early  custom.  So  we  see  in  languages, 
the  tone  is  more  pliant  to  all  expressions  and  sounds,  the  joints  are  more 
supple  to  all  feats  of  activity  and  motions,  in  youth,  than  afterward ;  for 
it  is  true,  the  late  learners  can  not  so  well  take  up  the  ply,  except  it  be  in 
some  minds,  that  have  not  suffered  themselves  to  fix,  but  have  kept  them- 
selves open  and  prepared  to  receive  continual  amendment,  which  is  ex- 
ceeding rare ;  but  if  the  force  of  custom,  simple  and  separate,  be  great, 
the  force  of  custom,  copulate,  and  conjoined,  and  collegiate,  is  far  greater ; 
for  there  example  teacheth,  company  comforteth,''  emulation  quickeneth, 
glory  raiseth  ;  so  as  in  such  places  the  force  of  custom  is  in  his'  exalta- 
tion. Certainly,  the  great  multiplication^  of  virtues  upon  human  nature 
resteth  upon  societies  well  ordained  and  disciplined ;  for  commonwealths 
and  good  governments  do  nourish  virtue  grown,  but  do  not  much  mend 
the  seeds :  but  the  misery  is,  that  the  most  effectual  means  are  now  ap- 
plied to  the  ends  least  to  be  desired. 

ANNOTATIONS. 

"ilfen's  thoughts  are  much  according  to  their  inclinations :  their  discourse  and 

speeches  according  to  their  learning  and  infused  opinions,  but  their  de'eda 

are  after  as  they  have  been  accustomed.''' 

This  remark,  like  many  others,  Bacon  has  condensed  in  Latin  into  the  very 
brief  and  pithy  apophthegm  which  I  have  given  in  the  '■'■  Antitheta  on  Nature  in 
A/en."  "  Cogltamus  secundum  naturam  ;  loquimur  secundum  pra?cepta ;  sed 
agimus  secundum  consuetudineni.''  Of  course.  Bacon  did  not  mean  his  words  to 
be  takt-n  literally  in  their  utmost  extent,  and  without  any  exception  or  modifica- 
tion ;  as  if  natural  disposition  and  instruction  had  nothing  to  do  with  conduct. 
And,  of  course,  he  could  not  mean  any  thing  so  self-contradictory  as  to  say  that 
all  action  is  the  result  of  custom  :  for  it  is  plain  that,  in  the  first  instance,  it  must 
be  by  actions  that  a  custom  is  formed. 

But  he  uses  a  strong  expression,  in  order  to  impress  it  on  our  mind  that,  for 
practice,  custom  is  the  most  essential  thing,  and  that  it  will  often  overbear  both  the 
original  disposition,  and  the  precepts  which  have  been  learnt:  that  whatever  a 
man  may  inwardly  think,  and  (with  perfect  sincerity)  say,  you  can  not  fully  depend 
on  his  conduct  till  you  know  how  he  has  been  accustomed  to  act.     For,  continued 

1.  Wiihs  Twigs,  or  bundx  of  ttcigs  "  If  they  bind  me  with  seven  preeu  teiths,  then 
shall  I  be  weak." — Judges,  xvl :  7 

2.  Comfort.  Tu  strengthen  as  an  auxiliary  ;  to  help.  (The  meaning  of  the  original  L«tin 
word.  Cuii/urlo.)  "  Now  we  exhort  you  brethren,  comfiirt  the  feeble-minded."—  1  Thess.,  v :  14. 

3.  Ills.  J/s  "But  God  giveth  it  a  body  as  it  liatli  pleased  Him.  and  to  every  seed  Ai's  own 
body."— 1  Coi:,xv:  38. 

4  Miillipiicaiion  upon,  "Increase  and  midtiphj  upon  us  thy  mercy  ."—Collect  /or  the  4th 
Sunday  ii/ler  Trinity. 


LORD  BACON.  gi^ 

action  is  like  a  continued  stream  of  water,  whicli  wears  for  itself  a  channel,  that 
it  will  not  easily  be  turned  from.  The  bed  whieh  the  current  had  gradually 
scooped  at  first,  afterward  confines  it. 

Bacon  is  far  from  meaning,  I  conceive,  when  he  says  that  "  men  speak  as  they 
have  learned,"  to  limit  himself  to  the  case  of  i«.vi«f  ere  professions  ;  but  to  point 
out  how  much  easier  it  is  to  learn  to  repeat  a  lesson  correctly,  than  to  bring  it 
into  practice,  when  custom  is  opposed  to  it. 

This  is  the  doctrine  of  one  whom  Bacon  did  not  certainly  regard  with  any  un- 
due veneration — Aristotle  ;  who,  in  his  "£<Aics,"  dwells  earnestly  on  the  import- 
ance of  being  early  accustomed  to  right  practice,  with  a  view  to  the  formation  of 
virtuous  habits.  And  he  derives  the  word  '*  ethics  "  from  a  Greek  word  signify- 
ing custom ;  even  as  the  word  "  morality  "  is  derived  from  the  corresponding 
Latin  word  "  mos." 

It  is  to  be  observed  that,  at  the  present  day,  it  is  common  to  use  the  words 
"custom"  and  "habit"  as  synonymous;  and  often  to  employ  the  latter  where 
Bacon  would  have  used  the  former.  But,  strictly  speaking,  they  denote  respect- 
ively the  cause  and  the  effect.  Repeated  acts  constitute  the  "  custom  ;  "  and  the 
"  habit"  is  the  condition  of  mind  or  body  thence  resulting.  For  instance,  a  man 
who  has  been  accustomed  to  rise  at  a  certain  hour,  will  have  acquired  the  habit 
of  waking  and  being  ready  to  rise  as  soon  as  that  hour  arrives.  And  one  who  has 
made  it  his  custom  to  drink  drams,  will  have  fallen  into  the  habit  of  craving  for 
that  stimulus,  and  of  yielding  to  that  craving  ;  and  so  of  the  rest. 

Those  are,  then,  in  error  who  disparage  (as  Mrs.  Hannah  More  does)  all  prac- 
tice that  does  not  spring  from  a  formed  habit.  For  instance,  they  censure  those 
who  employ  children  as  almoners,  handing  them  money  or  other  things  to  relieve 
the  poor  with.  For,  say  they,  no  one  can  give  what  is  not  Iiis  own  ;  there  is  no 
charity,  unless  you  part  with  something  that  you  might  have  kept,  and  whieh  it  is 
a  self-denial  to  part  with.  The  answer  is,  that  if  the  child  does  this  readily  and 
gladly,  he  has  already  learnt  the  virtue  of  charity  ;  but  if  it  is  a  painful  self-denial 
which  you  urge  him  to,  as  a  duty,  you  are  creating  an  association  of  charity  with 
pain.  On  the  contrary,  if  you  accustom  him  to  the  pleasure  of  seeing  distress  re- 
lieved, and  of  being  the  instrument  of  giving  pleasure,  and  doing  good,  the  desire 
of  this  gratification  will  lead  him,  afterward,  to  part  with  something  of  his  own, 
rather  than  forego  it.  Thus  it  is — to  use  Horace's  comparison — that  the  young 
hound  is  trained  for  the  chase  in  the  woods,  from  the  time  that  he  barks  at  the 
deer-skin  in  the  hall.' 

The  precept  is  very  good,  to  begin  with  swimming  with  corks. 

There  is  an  error  somewhat  akin  to  the  one  I  have  been  combating,  which  may 
be  worth  noticing  here.  Declamations  are  current  in  the  present  day  against  the 
iniquity  of  giving  a  bias  to  the  minds  of  young  persons,  by  teaching  them  our  own 
interpretation  of  the  Sacred  Volume,  instead  of  leaving  them  to  investigate  for 
themselves ;  that  is,  against  endeavoring  to  place  them  in  the  same  situation  with 
those  to  whom  those  very  Scriptures  were  written  ;  instead  of  leaving  them  to 
struggle  with  difficulties  which  the  Scriptures  nowhere  contemplate  or  provide 
against.  The  maintainers  of  such  a  principle  would  do  well  to  consider,  whether 
it  would  not,  if  consistently  pursued,  prove  too  much.  Do  you  not,  it  might  be 
asked,  bias  the  minds  of  children,  by  putting  into  their  hands  the  Scriptures  them- 

1 "  Venaticus,  ex  quo 

Tempore  cervinam  pellam  latravit  in  aula, 

Militat  ill  silvis  catulus."— Book  Horace,  i.  ep.  2, 1.  G5. 

7 


98  LORD  BACON. 

selves,  as  the  infallible  word  of  God?  If  you  are  convinced  that  they  are  so,  you 
must  be  sure  tliat  they  will  stand  the  test  of  unprejudiced  inquiry.  Are  j'ou  not, 
at  least,  bound  in  fairness  to  teach  them,  at  the  same  time,  the  systems  of  ancient 
mythology,  the  doctrines  of  the  Koran,  and  those  of  modern  philosophers,  that 
they  may  freely  choose  amongst  all  ?  Let  any  one  who  is  disposed  to  deride  the 
absurdity  of  such  a  proposal  consider  whether  there  is  any  objection  to  it,  which 
would  not  equally  lie  against  the  exclusion  of  systematic  religious  instruction,  or, 
indeed,  systematic  training  in  any  science  or  art.  It  is  urged,  however,  that  since 
a  man  must  wish  to  find  the  system  true  in  which  he  has  been  trained,  his  judg- 
ment must  be  unduly  biased  by  that  wish.  It  would  follow,  from  this  principle, 
that  no  physician  should  be  trusted,  who  is  not  utterly  indifferent  whether  his 
patient  recovers  or  dies,  and  who  is  not  wholly  free  from  any  favorable  hope  from 
the  mode  of  treatment  pursued  ;  since,  else  his  mind  must  be  unfairly  influenced 
by  his  wishes ! 
"  The  predominancy  of  custom  is  every  where  visible  ;  insomuch  as  a  man  would 

wonder  to  hear  men  profess,  protest,  engage,  give  great  words,  and  then  do 

just  as  they  have  done  before ;  as  if  they  were  dead  images  and  engines, 

moved  only  by  the  wheels  of  custom.''^ 

This  "predominancy  of  custom  "  is  remarkably  exemplified  In  the  case  of 
soldiers  who  have  long  been  habituated  to  obey,  as  if  by  a  mechanical  impulse, 
the  word  of  conmiand. 

It  happened,  in  the  case  of  a  contemplated  insurrection  in  a  certain  part  of  the 
British  Empire,  that  the  plotters  of  it  sought  to  tamper  with  the  soldiers  who  were 
likely  to  be  called  out  against  them  ;  and,  for  this  purpose,  frequented  the  public 
houses  to  which  the  soldiers  resorted,  and  drew  them  into  conversation.  Reports 
of  these  attempts  reached  the  officers ;  who,  however,  found  that  so  little  impres- 
sion was  made,  that  they  did  not  think  it  needful  to  take  any  notice  of  them.  On 
one  occasion  it  appeared  that  a  sergeant  of  a  Scotch  regiment  was  so  far  talked 
over  as  to  feel  and  express  great  sympathy  with  the  agitators,  on  account  of  their 
alledged  grievances,  as  laid  before  him  by  the  seducer.  "  Weel,  now,  I  did  na  ken 
that;  indeed,  that  seems  unco  hard  ;  I  can  na  wonder  that  ye  should  complain  o' 
that,"  &c.,  &c. 

The  other,  seeking  to  follow  up  his  blow,  then  said  :  "  I  suppose  now  such  hon- 
est fellows  as  you,  if  you  were  to  be  called  out  against  us,  when  we  were  driven 
to  rise  in  a  good  cause,  would  never  have  the  heart  to  fire  on  poor  fellows  who  were 
only  seeking  liberty  and  justice."  The  sergeant  replied  (just  as  he  was  reaching 
down  his  cap  and  belt,  to  return  to  barracks,)  "Pd  just  na  advise  ye  to  try  I " 

He  felt  conscious — misled  as  he  had  been  respecting  the  justice  of  the  cause — 
that,  whatever  might  be  his  private  opinions  and  inward  feelings,  if  the  word  of 
command  were  given  to  "  make  ready,  present,  fire,"  he  should  instinctively 
obey  it. 

And  this  is  very  much  the  case  with  any  one  who  has  been  long  drilled  in  the 
ranks  of  a  party.  Wh.itever  may  be  his  natural  disposition — whatever  may  be 
the  judgment  his  unbiased  understanding  dictates  on  any  point — wliatever  he 
may  inwardly  feel,  and  may  (with  perfect  sincerity)  have  said — when  you  come  to 
action,  it  is  likely  that  the  habit  of  going  along  with  his  party  will  prevail.  And 
the  more  general  and  indefinite  the  purpose  for  which  the  party,  or  society  (or 
by  whatever  name  it  may  be  called)  is  framed,  and  the  less  distinctly  specified 
are  its  objects,  the  more  will  its  members  be,  usually,  under  the  control  and 
direction  of  its  leaders. 


LORD   UACON.  qq 

I  was  once  conversing  with  an  intelligent  and  liberal-minded  man,  who  was  ex- 
pressing his  strong  disapprobation  of  some  late  decisions  and  proceedings  of  the 
leading  persons  of  the  society  he  belonged  to,  and  assuring  me  that  the  greater 
part  of  the  subordinates  regarded  them  as  wrong  and  unjustifiable.  "  But,"  said 
I,  "  they  will  nevertheless,  I  suppose,  comply,  and  act  as  they  are  required  ? " 
"  Oh,  yes,  they  must  do  that !  " 

Of  course,  there  are  many  various  degrees  of  partisanship,  as  there  are  also 
different  degrees  of  custom  in  all  other  things ;  and  it  is  not  meant  that  all  who 
are  in  any  degree  connected  with  anj^  party  must  be  equally  devoted  adherents  of 
it.  But  I  am  speaking  of  the  tendency  of  party-spirit,  and  describing  a  party- 
man  so  far  forth  as  he  is  such.  And  persons  of  much  experience  in  human 
affairs  lay  it  down  accordingly  as  a  maxim,  that  you  should  be  very  cautious  how 
you  fully  trust  a  party-man,  however  sound  his  own  judgment,  and  however 
pure  the  principles  on  which  he  acts,  when  left  to  himself.  A  sensible  and 
upright  man,  who  keeps  himself  quite  unconnected  with  party,  may  be 
calculated  on  as  likely  to  act  on  the  views  which  you  have  found  him  to 
take  on  each  point.  In  some  things,  perhaps,  you  find  him  to  differ  from  you ;  in 
others  to  agree ;  but  when  you  have  learnt  what  his  sentiments  are,  you  know  in 
each  ease  what  to  expect.  But  it  is  not  so  with  one  who  is  connected  with,  and 
consequently  controlled  by,  a  party.  In  proportion  as  he  is  so,  he  is  not  fully  his 
own  master ;  and  in  some  instances  you  will  probably  find  him  take  you  quite  by 
surprise,  by  assenting  to  some  course  quite  at  variance  with  the  sentiments  which 
you  have  heard  him  express — probably  with  perfect  sincerity — as  his  own.  When 
it  comes  to  action,  a  formed  habit  of  following  the  party  will  be  likely  to  prevail 
over,  every  thing.     At  least,  "/'rf  just  na  advise  ye  to  try  !  " 

It  is  important  to  keep  in  mind  that — as  is  evident  from  what  has  been  said  just 
above — habits  are  formed,  not  at  one  stroke,  but  gradually  and  insensibly  ;  so  that, 
unless  vigilant  care  be  employed,  a  great  change  may  come  over  the  character, 
without  our  being  conscious  of  any.  For,  as  Dr.  Johnson  has  well  expressed  it, 
"  The  diminutive  chains  of  habit  are  seldom  heavy  enough  to  be  felt,  till  they  are 
too  strong  to  be  broken." 

And  this  is  often  strongly  exemplified  in  the  case  just  adverted  to — that  of 
party-spirit.  It  is  not  often  that  a  man,  all  at  once,  resolves  to  join  him- 
self to  a  party  •,  but  he  is  drawn  in  by  little  and  little.  Party  is  like  one  of  those 
perilous  whirlpools  sometimes  met  with  at  sea.  When  a  vessel  reaches  the  outer 
edge  of  one  of  them,  the  current  moves  so  slowly,  and  with  so  little  of  a  curve, 
that  the  mariners  may  be  unconscious  of  moving  in  any  curve  at  all,  or  even  of 
any  motion  whatever.  But  each  circuit  of  the  spiral  increases  the  velocity,  and 
gradually  increases  the  curve,  and  brings  the  vessel  nearer  to  the  center.  And 
perhaps  this  rapid  motion,  and  the  direction  of  it,  are  for  the  first  time  perceived, 
when  the  force  of  the  current  has  become  irresistible. 

"It  is  true  that  a  man  viay^  if  he  will,  withdraw  from,  and  disown,  a  party 
which  he  had  formerly  belonged  to.  But  this  is  a  step  which  requires  no  small 
degree  of  moral  courage.  And  not  only  are  we  strongly  tempted  to  shrink  from 
taking  such  a  step,  but  also  our  dread  of  doing  so  is  likely  rather  to  mislead  our 
reason  than  to  overpower  it.  A  man  will  wish  to  think  it  justifiable  to  adhei-e 
to  the  party ;  and  this  wish  is  likely  to  bias  his  judgment,  rather  than  to  prevail 
on  him  to  act  contrary  to  his  judgment.  For,  we  know  how  much  the  judgment 
of  men  is  likely  to  be  biased,  as  well  as  how  much  they  are  tempted  to  acquiesce 
in  something  against  their  judgment,  when  earnestly  pressed  by  the  majority  of 


100  LORD   BACON. 

those  wlio  are  acting  with  tbtni — whom  tlicy  look  up  to — whose  approbation  en- 
courages them — and  whose  censure  they  can  not  but  dread. 

"  Some  doctrine,  suppose,  is  promulgated,  or  measure  proposed,  or  mode  of  pro- 
cedure commenced,  which  some  members  of  a  party  do  not,  in  their  unbiased 
judgment,  approve.  But  any  one  of  them  is  disposed,  first  to  irisA,  then  to  hope, 
and  lastly  lo  believe,  that  those  are  in  the  right  whom  he  would  be  sorry  to  think 
wrong.  And  again.  In  any  case  where  his  judgment  may  still  be  unelumgcd,  he 
may  feel  that  it  is  but  a  small  concession  he  is  called  on  to  make,  and  that  tliereare 
great  benefits  to  set  against  it ;  and  that,  after  all,  he  is  perhaps  called  on  merely 
to  acquiesce  silently  in  what  he  does  not  quite  approve  ;  and  he  is  loth  to  incur 
censure,  as  lukewarm  in  the  good  cause — as  presumptuous — as  unfriendly  toward 
those  who  are  acting  with  him.  To  be  "a  breaker  up  of  the  Club"  {Iraipias- 
iioXvTris-)  was  a  reproach,  the  dread  of  which,  we  learn  from  the  great  historian  of 
Greece,  carried  much  weight  with  it  in  the  transactions  of  the  party  warfare  he  is 
describing.     And  we  may  expect  the  like  in  all  similar  eases. 

"  One  may  sometimes  hear  a  person  say,  in  so  many  words — though  far  oftener 
in  his  conduct — '  It  is  true,  I  do  not  altogether  approve  of  such  and  such  a  step ; 
but  it  is  insisted  on  as  essential,  by  those  who  are  acting  with  us ;  and  if  we  were 
to  liold  out  against  it,  we  should  lose  their  co-operation  ;  which  would  be  a  most 
serious  evil.     There  is  nothing  to  be  done,  therefore,  but  to  comply.'  " 

'^Ceitaiiilij  custom  is  most  perfect  when  it  hegirineth  in  young  years:  this  we 

call  education,  which  is,  in  effect,  but  an  early  custom.'''' 

Education  may  be  compared  to  the  grafting  of  a  tree.  Every  gardener  knows 
that  the  younger  the  wilding-stoek  is  that  is  to  be  grafted,  the  easier  and  the  more 
effectual  is  the  operation  ;  because,  then,  one  scion  put  on  just  above  the  root,  will 
become  the  main  stem  of  the  tree,  and  all  the  branches  it  puts  forth  will  be  of  the 
right  sort.  When,  on  the  other  hand,  a  tree  is  to  be  grafted  at  a  considerable  age 
(which  may  be  very  successfully  done.)  you  have  to  put  on  twenty  or  thirty  grafts 
on  the  several  branches ;  and  afterwai'd  you  will  have  to  be  watching  fi'om  time 
to  time  for  the  wilding-shoots,  which  the  stock  will  be  putting  forth,  and  prunning 
them  off.  And  even  so  one.  whose  character  is  to  be  reformed  at  mature  ago,  will 
find  it  necessary,  not  merely  to  implant  a  right  principle  once  for  all,  but  also  to 
bestow  a  distinct  attention  on  the  correction  of  this,  that,  and  the  other  bad  habit. 

It  is  wonderful  that  so  many  persons  should  confound  together  being  accustom- 
ed to  certain  objects,  and  accustomed  to  a  certain  mode  of  acting.  Aristotle,  on 
the  contrary,  justly  remarks  that  opposite  habits  are  formed  by  means  of  the  same 
things  («  Twv  avTwv,  Kat  Sia  twv  avTuv,)  treated  in  opposite  ways ;  as,  for  instance, 
humanity  and  inhumanity — by  being  accustomed  to  the  view  of  suffering, "with  and 
without  the  effort  to  relieve  it.  Of  two  persons  who  have  been  accustomed  to  the 
sight  of  much  human  misery,  one,  who  has  been  used  to  pass  it  by  without  any 
effort  to  relieve  it,  will  become  careless  and  hardened  to  such  spectacles ;  while 
another,  who  has  been  in  the  practice  of  relieving  sufferers,  will  acquire  a  strong 
habit  of  endeavoring  to  afford  relief.  These  two  persons  will  both  have  been  ac- 
customed to  the  same  objects,  but  will  have  acquired  opposite  habits,  from  being 
accustomed  to  act  in  opposite  ways. 

Suppose  that  there  is  in  your  neighborhood  a  loud  bell,  tliat  is  rung  very 
early  every  morning,  to  call  the  laborers  in  some  great  manufactory.  At  first, 
and  for  some  time,  your  rest  will  be  broken  by  it ;  but,  if  you  accustom  yourself 
to  lie  still,  and  try  to  compose  yourself,  you  will  become,  in  a  few  days,  so  used 


LORD  BACON.  jq]^ 

to  it,  that  it  will  not  even  wake  you.  But  any  one  who  makes  a  point  of  rising 
immediately  at  the  call,  will  become  so  used  to  it  in  tlie  opposite  way,  that  the 
sound  will  never  fail  to  rouse  him  from  the  deepest  sleep.  Both  will  have  been 
accustomed  to  the  same  bell,  but  will  have  formed  opposite  habits  from  their  con- 
trary modes  of  action. 

But  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  education  resembles  the  grafting  of  a  tree  in 
this  point,  also,  that  there  must  be  some  affinity  between  the  stock  and  the  graft, 
though  a  very  important  practical  difference  may  exist ;  for  example,  between  a 
worthless  crab,  and  a  fine  apple.  Even  so,  the  new  nature,  as  it  may  be  called,  super- 
induced by  education,  must  always  retain  some  relation  to  the  original  one,  though 
difTering  in  most  important  points.  You  can  not,  by  any  kind  of  artificial  train- 
ing, make  any  thing  of  any  one,  and  obliterate  all  trace  of  the  natural  character. 
Those  who  hold  that  this  is  possible,  and  attempt  to  efteet  it,  resemble  Virgil, 
who  (whether  in  ignorance  or,  as  some  think,  by  way  of  "  poetical  license,")  talks 
of  grafting  an  oak  on  an  elm  :  "glandesque  sues  fregere  sub  ulmis." 

One  of  Dr.  Johnson's  paradoxes,  more  popular  in  his  time  than  now,  but  far 
from  being  now  exploded,  was,  that  a  given  amount  of  ability  may  be  turned  in 
any  direction,  "  even  as  a  man  may  walk  this  way  or  that."  And  so  he  can  ; 
because  walking  is  the  action  for  which  the  legs  are  fitted ;  but,  though  he  may 
use  his  eyes  for  looking  at  this  object  or  that,  he  can  not  hear  with  his  eyes,  or 
see  with  his  ears.  And  the  eyes  and  ears  are  not  more  difTerent  than,  for  in- 
stance, the  poetical  faculty,  and  the  mathematical.  "Oh,  but  if  Milton  had 
turned  his  mind  to  mathematics,  and  if  Newton  had  turned  his  mind  to  poetry  ; 
the  former  might  have  been  the  great  mathematician,  and  the  latter  the  great 
poet."  This  is  open  to  the  proverbial  reply,  "If  my  aunt  had  been  a  man,  she 
would  have  been  my  uncle."  For,  the  supposition  implied  in  these  ifs  is,  that  Mil- 
ton and  Newton  should  have  been  quite  difTerent  characters  from  what  they  were. 
"...     Minds  that  have  not  suffered   themselves   to  fix,  hut  have  kept 

themselves  open  and  prepared    to  receive  continual   amendment,  which    is 

exceeding  rare.'" 

And  as  admirable  as  it  is  rare.  Such  minds  may  indeed  print  their  opinions, 
but  do  not  stereotype  them.  Nor  does  the  self-distrust,  the  perpetual  care,  the 
diligent  watchfulness,  the  openness  to  conviction,  the  exercise  of  which  is  implied 
in  Bacon's  desci'ii)tion,  necessarily  involve  a  state  of  painful  and  unceasing  doubt. 
For,  in  proportion  as  a  man  is  watchfully  and  prayerfully  on  hifs  guard  against  the 
unseen  current  of  passions  and  predjudices,  which  is  ever  tending  to  drive  him 
out  of  the  right  course,  in  the  same  degree  he  will  have  reason  for  cherishing  an 
humble  hope  that  lie,  the  Spirit  of  Truth,  is,  and  will  be,  with  him,  to  enlighten 
his  understanding,  to  guide  his  conduct,  and  to  lead  him  onward  to  that  state  in 
which  Faith  shall  be  succeeded  by  sight,  and  hope  by  enjoyment. 
"The  force  of  custom,  copulate,  and  conjoined,  and  collegiate,  is  far  greater.^' 

For  this  reason  it  is,  that  what  is  said  or  done  by  very  inferior  persons,  is  the 
best  sign  of  wliat  is  commonly  said  or  done  in  the  place  and  time  in  which  they 
live.  A  man  of  resolute  character,  and  of  an  original  turn  of  thought,  being 
more  likely  to  resist  this  force  of  "copulate  and  collegiate  custom,"  does  not 
furnish  so  good  a  sign  of  what  are  the  prevailing  opinions  and  customs.     Hence 

the  proverb : — 

"A  straw  best  sliows 
How  tlie  wind  blows." 

A  bar  of  heavy  metal  would  not  be  perceptibly  inlluenced  by  the  wind. 


102  LORD  BACON. 

I  wish  I  could  feel  justified  in  concluding  this  head  without  saying  any  thing  of 
Bacon's  own  character ;  without  holding  him  up  as  himself  a  lamentable  example 
of  practice  at  variance  with  good  sentiments,  and  sound  judgment,  and  right  pre- 
cepts, lie  thought  well,  and  he  spoke  well ;  but  he  liad  accustomed  himself  to 
act  very  far  from  well.  And  justice  requires  that  he  sln)uld  be  held  up  as  a 
warning  beacon  t«  teach  all  men  an  important  lesson  ;  to  afford  them  a  sad  proof 
that  no  intellectual  power — no  extent  of  learning — not  even  the  most  pure  and 
exalted  moral  sentiments,  confined  to  theory,  will  supply  the  want  of  a  diligent 
and  watchful  conformity  in  practice  to  christian  principle.  All  the  attempts  that 
have  been  made  to  vindicate  or  palliate  Bacon's  moral  conduct,  tend  only  to  lower, 
and  to  lower  very  much,  the  standard  of  virtue.  He  appears  but  too  plainly  to 
have  been  worldly,  ambitious,  covetous,  base,  selfish,  and  unscrupulous.'  And  it 
is  remarkable  that  the  Mammon  which  he  served  proved  but  a  faithless  master  in 
the  end.  He  reached  tlie  highest  pinnacle,  indeed,  to  which  his  ambition  had 
aimed  ;  but  he  died  impoverished,  degraded,  despised,  and  broken-hearted.  His 
example,  therefore,  is  far  from  being  at  all  seductive. 

But  let  no  one,  thereupon,  undervalue  or  neglect  the  lessons  of  wisdom  which 
his  writings  may  supply,  and  which  we  niay,  through  divine  grace,  turn  to  better 
account  than  he  did  himself.  It  would  be  absurd  to  infer  that,  because  Bacon 
was  a  great  philosopher,  and  far  from  a  good  man,  therefore  you  will  be  the  better 
man  for  keeping  clear  of  his  philosophy.  His  intellectual  superiority  was  no 
more  the  cause  of  his  moral  failures,  than  Solomon's  wisdom  was  of  his.  You 
may  be  as  faulty  a  character  as  either  of  them  was,  without  possessing  a  particle 
of  their  wisdom,  and  without  seeking  to  gain  instruction  from  it.  The  intellectual 
light  which  they  enjoyed  did  not,  indeed,  keep  them  in  the  right  path  ;  but  you 
will  not  be  the  more  likely  to  walk  in  it,  if  you  quench  any  light  that  is  aflforded 
yu. 

The  Canaanites  of  old,  we  should  remember,  dwelt  in  "a  good  land,  flowing 
with  milk  and  honey,"  though  they  worsliiped  not  the  true  God,  but  served 
abominable  demons,  with  sacrifices  of  the  produce  of  their  soil,  and  even  with  the 
blood  of  their  children.  But  the  Israelites  were  invited  to  go  in,  and  take  pos- 
session of  "  well-stored  houses  that  they  builded  not,  and  wells  which  they  digged 
not ;  "  and  they  "  took  the  labors  of  the  people  in  possession  :  "  only,  they  were 
vrarned  to  beware,  lest,  in  their  prosperity  and  wealth,  they  should  "  forget  the 
Lord  their  God,"  and  to  oflTer  to  Him  the  first  fruits  of  their  land. 

Neglect  not,  then,  any  of  the  advantages  of  intellectual  cultivation,  which 
God's  providence  has  placed  within  your  reach  ;  nor  "  think  scorn  of  that  pleas- 
ant land,"  and  prefer  wandering  by  choice  in  the  barren  wilderness  of  ignorance; 
but  let  the  intellect,  which  God  has  endowed  you  with,  be  cultivated  as  a  servant 
to  Him,  and  then  it  will  be,  not  a  master,  but  an  useful  servant,  to  you. 

1.  This  censure  of  Dacon  lias  aclually  been  complained  of  as  undeserved;  not  on  the 
gnmnd  that  his  condticl  was  any  belter  than  it  is  but  loo  well  known  to  have  been,  but  on  the 
grimiid  (hat  his  writings  contain  excellent  views  of  Gospel  truth  ! 

This  is  exactly  the  doctrine  of  the  ancient  Gnostics;  who  held  that  their  (so-called) 
knoiekdge  (Gnosis]  of  the  Gospel  would  save  them,  though  leading  a  vicious  life. 

But,  when  instances  of  such  teaching  in  our  own  days  are  adrfuced  (as  unhappily  may  be 
done  to  a  great  extent,)  some  persons — including  some  who  are  themselves  of  blameless  life — 
resolutely  sliut  their  ears  to  evidence,  and  will  not  be  brought  to  perceive,  or  at  least  to  ac- 
knowledge, that  any  such  thing  as  Gnosticism  exists  among  us,  or  that  we  are  in  danger  ot 
aniinomian  doctrine. 

Ao  strong  is  the  force  of  party  ! 


LORD  BACON  AND  ARCHBISHOP  WHATELY  ON  STUDIES. 


bacon's  essay  l.  of  studies. 
Studies  serve  for  delight,  for  ornament,  and  for  ability.  Their  chief 
use  for  delight  is  in  privateness,*  and  retiring ;  for  ornament,  is  in  dis- 
course; and  for  ability,  is  in  the  judgment  and  disposition  of  business; 
for,  expert  men  can  execute,  and  perhaps  judge  of  particulars,  one  by 
one;  but  the  general  counsels,  and  the  plots  and  marshaling  of  affairs, 
come  best  from  those  that  are  learned.  To  spend  too  much  time  in 
studies,  is  sloth;  to  use  them  too  much  for  ornament,  is  affectation;  to 
make^  judgment  wholly  by  their  rules,  is  the  humor  of  a  scholar;  they 
perfect  nature,  and  are  perfected  by  experience — for  natural  abilities  are 
like  natural  plants,  that  need  pruning  by  study ;  and  studies  themselves 
do  give  forth  directions  too  much  at  large,  except  they  be  bounded  in  by 
experience.  Crafty  men  contemn  studies,  simple  men  admire  them,  and 
wise  men  use  them,  for  they  teach  not  their  own  use ;  but  that  is  a  wis- 
dom without  them,  and  above  them,  won  by  observation.  Read  not  to 
contradict  and  confute,  nor  to  believe  and  take  for  granted,  nor  to  find 
talk  and  discourse,  but  to  weigh  and  consider.  Some  books  are  to  be 
tasted,  others  to  be  swallowed,  and  some  few  to  be  chewed  and  digested ; 
that  is,  some  books  are  to  be  read  only  in  parts ;  others  to  be  read,  but 
not  curiously  ;^  and  some  few  to  be  read  wholly,  and  with  diligence  and 
attention.  Some  books  also  may  be  read  by  deputy,  and  extracts  made 
of  them  by  others ;  but  that  would^  be  only  in  the  less  important  argu- 
ments, and  the  meaner  sort  of  books ;  else  distilled  books  are,  like  com- 
mon distilled  waters,  flashy  things.  Reading  maketh  a  full  man,  confer- 
ence a  ready  man,  and  writing  an  exact  man  ;  and,  therefore,  if  a  man 
write  little,  he  had  need  have  a  great  memory ;  if  he  confer  little,  he  had 
need  have  a  present  wit;  and  if  he  read  little,  he  had  need  have  much 
cunning,  to  seem  to  know  that^  he  doth  not.  Histories  make  men  wise ; 
poets,  witty ;  the  mathematics,  subtle ;  natural  philosophy,  deep ;  moral, 
grave;  logic  and  rhetoric,  able  to  contend  :  '  Abeunt  studia  in  mores '° — 
nay,  there  is  no  stond''  or  impediment  in  the  wit,  but  may  be  wrought* 

1  Privateness.     Privacy,  2  Make.     Give. 

3  Curiously.  Attentively.  "  At  first  I  thouglit  there  had  been  no  light  reflected  from  tlie 
water .  but  observing  It  more  curiously,  I  saw  within  it  several  spots  which  appeared  darker 
than  the  rest." — Sir  Isaac  Newton. 

4  Would.     Should.  5  That.     What. 

6 '-Manners  are  influenced  by  stu(hee."  7  Slond.    Hindrances. 

8  Wrought.     Worked.    "  Who.  through  faith,  icroi/g^AY  righteousness." — Heh.x'x  33. 
"  How  great  is  Thy  goodness,  which  Thou  hast  wrought  for  them  that  trust  in  Thee  !" — 
Psalm  xxxi.  ]'J. 


2(34  LORD  BACON. 

out  by  fit  studies,  like  as  diseases  of  the  body  may  have  appropriate  ex- 
ercises— bowling  is  good  for  the  stone  and  reins,*  shooting  for  the  lungs 
and  breast,  gentle  walking  for  the  stomach,  riding  for  the  head,  and  the 
like ;  so,  if  a  man's  wits  be  wandering,  let  him  study  the  mathematics, 
for  in  demonstrations,  if  his  wit  be  called  away  never  so  little,  he  must 
begin  again  ;  if  his  wit  be  not  apt  to  distinguish  or  find  differences,"  let 
him  study  the  schoolmen,  for  they  are  'cymini  sectores  ;"  if  he  be  not 
apt  to  beat  over  matters,  and  to  call  upon  one  thing  to  prove  and  illus- 
trate another,  let  him  study  the  lawyers'  cases — so  every  defect  of  the 
mind  may  have  a  special  receipt. 

ANTlrnETA    ON    STUDIES. 

Pro.  Contra. 

"  Lectio  est  conversatio  cum  prudou-  "  Qua;  unquam  ars  docuit  temposti- 

tibus  ;  actio  fere  cum  stultis  "  vum  aitis  usum  ?"                * 

''In  reading,  we  hold  converse  with  ''What  art   has  ever  taught  us  the 

the  wise  ;  in  the  bnsiness  of  lijcj  gen-  suitable  use  of  an  art  .■"' 

erally  with  the  foolish.''  u  k   ^-  ■    ■       ■       t     ,  ^„=.  ^^f  -na 

■'  •'  "  Artis  stepissinie  inoptusususest,  ne 

"Noil  inutiles  seientitc  existimaiuloe      sit  nullus." 
sunt,  quai'um  in  se  nullus  est  usus,  si  ''A  branch  of   knowledge   is  often 

ingeiiia  acuant,  et  ordineiit."  put  to  an  improper  use,forJear  of  its 

"  We  should  not  consider  even  those      being  idle.'" 
sciences  which  hare  no  actual  practical 
application  in   themselves^  as  without 
value,  if  they  sharpen  and  train  the 
intellect.'" 


ANNOTATIONS    BY    ARCHBISHOP    WllATELY. 

^'Crafty  men  contemn  studies." 
This  contempt,  whether  of  crafty  men  or  narrow-minded  men,  often  finds  its 
expression  in  the  word  "  smattering ; "    and  the  couplet   is  become  almost  a 
proverb — 

"  A  little  learning  is  a  dangerous  thing ; 
Drink  deep,  or  taste  not  the  Pierian  spring." 

But  the  poet's  remedies  for  the  dangers  of  a  little  learning  are  both  of  them  im- 
possible. None  can  "drink  deep"  enough  to  be,  in  truth,  anything  more  than 
very  superficial ;  ancl  every  human  being,  that  is  not  a  downright  idiot,  must 
taste. 

It  is  plainly  impossible  that  any  man  should  acquire  a  knowledge  of  all  that  is 
to  be  known,  on  all  subjects.  But  is  it  then  meant  that,  on  each  particular  sub- 
ject on  which  he  does  learn  anything  at  all,  he  should  be  perfectly  well  informed? 
Here  it  may  fairly  be  asked,  what  is  the  "  well?" — liow  much  knowledge  is  to  bo 
called  "  little  "  or  "  much  ?"  For,  in  many  departments,  the  very  utmost  that 
had  been  iicquired  by  the  greatest  proficients,  a  century  and  a  half  back,  falls 
short  of  what  is  familiar  to  many  a  boarding-school  miss  now.  And  it  is  likely 
that  our  posterity,  a  century  and  a  half  hence,  will  in  many  things  be  just  as  much 

1  Reins.  Kidneys;  inicard  parts.  "Whom  I  shall  see  for  myself,  tliuuyli  my  'cmsba 
tonsuined  within  me." — Job  xix.  27. 

2  Di (Terences.    Disitinctions. 

3  "  Splitters  of  cummin."     Vid.  A.  L.  I.  vii  7. 


LORD  BACON.  105 

JD  advance  of  us.  And  in  most  subjects,  the  utmost  knowledge  that  any  man  can 
attain  to,  is  but  "  a  little  learning  "  in  comparison  of  what  he  remains  ignorant  of. 
The  view  resembles  that  of  an  American  forest,  in  which,  the  more  trees  a  man 
cuts  down,  the  greater  is  the  expanse  of  wood  lie  sees  around  him. 

But  supposing  you  define  the  "  much  "  and  the  "  little  "  with  reference  to  the 
e.\isting  state  of  knowledge  in  the  present  age  and  country,  would  any  one  se- 
riously advise  that  those  who  are  not  proficients  in  astronomy  should  remain  igno- 
rant whether  the  earth  moves  or  the  sun  ? — that  unless  you  are  complete  master 
of  agriculture,  as  far  as  it  is  at*present  understood,  there  is  no  good  in  your  know- 
ing wheat  from  barley? — that  unless  you  are  such  a  Grecian  as  Porson,  you  had 
better  not  luarn  to  construe  the  Greek  Testament? 

The  other  recommendation  of  the  poet,  "  taste  not  " — that  is  to  say,  have  no 
learning — is  equally  impossible.  The  truth  is,  every  body  has,  and  every  body 
ought  to  have,  a  slight  and  supei-ficial  knowledge — a  "  smattering,"  if  you  will — • 
of  more  subjects  than  it  is  possible  for  the  most  diligent  student  to  acquire  thor- 
oughly. It  is  very  possible,  and  also  very  useful,  to  have  that  slight  smattering 
of  chemistry  whioli  will  enable  one  to  distinguish  from  the  salts  used  in  medicine, 
the  oxalic  acid,  with  which,  through  mistake,  several  persons  have  been  poisoned. 
Again,  without  being  an  eminent  botanist,  a  person  may  know — what  it  is  most 
important  to  know — the  difference  between  cherries  and  the  berries  of  the  deadly 
nightshade ;  the  want  of  which  knowledge  has  cost  many  lives. 

Again,  there  is  no  one,  even  of  those  who  are  not  profound  politicians,  who  is 
not  aware  that  we  have  Rulers  ;  and  is  it  not  proper  that  he  should  understand 
that  government  is  necessary  to  preserve  our  lives  and  property  ?  Is  he  likely  to 
be  a  worse  subject  for  knowing  that?  That  depends  very  much  on  the  kind  of 
government  you  wish  to  establish.  If  you  wish  to  establish  an  unjust  and  des- 
potic government — or,  if  you  wish  to  set  up  a  false  religion — then  it  would  be 
advisable  to  avoid  the  danger  of  enlightening  the  people.  But  if  you  wish  to 
maintain  a  good  government,  the  more  the  people  understand  the  advantages  of 
such  a  government,  the  more  they  will  respect  it ;  and  the  more  they  know  of 
true  religion,  the  more  they  will  value  it. 

There  is  nothing  n)ore  general  among  uneducated  people  than  a  disposition  to 
socialism,  and  yet  nothing  more  injurious  to  their  own  welfare.  An  equalization 
of  wages  would  be  most  injurious  to  themselves,  for  it  would,  at  once,  destroy 
all  emulation.  All  motives  for  the  acquisition  of  skill,  and  for  superior  industry, 
would  be  removed.  Now,  it  is  but  a  Utile  knowledge  of  political  economy  that  is 
needed  for  the  removal  of  this  error ;  but  that  little  is  highly  useful. 

Again,  every  one  knows,  no  matter  how  ignorant  of  medicine,  that  there  is 
such  a  thing  as  disease.  But  as  an  instance  of  the  impossibility  of  the  "  taste 
not"  recommendation  of  the  poet,  a  fact  may  be  mentioned,  which  perhaps  is 
known  to  most.  When  the  cholera  broke  out  in  Poland,  the  peasantry  of  that 
country  took  it  into  their  heads  that  the  nobles  were  poisoning  them  in  order  to 
clear  the  country  of  them ;  they  believed  the  rich  to  be  the  authors  of  that  terri- 
ble disease ;  and  the  consequence  was  that  the  peasantry  rose  in  masses,  broke 
into  the  houses  of  the  nobility,  and  finding  some  chloride  of  lime,  which  had  been 
used  for  the  purpose  of  disinfecting,  they  took  it  for  the  poison  which  had  caused 
the  disease;  and  they  murdered  them.  Now,  that  was  the  sort  of  "  little  learn- 
ing "  which  was  very  dangerous. 

Again  we  can  not  prevent  people  from  believing  that  there  is  some  superhuman 


2Qg  LORD  BACON. 

Being  who  has  regard  to  human  affairs.  Some  clowns  in  the  WealJ  of  Kent, 
who  haA  been  kept  as  much  as  possible  on  the  "  taste  not "  system, — left  in  a 
Btato  of  gross  ignorance, — yet  believed  that  the  Deity  did  impart  special  powers 
to  certain  men ;  and  that  behef,  coupled  with  excessive  stupidity,  led  them  to  take 
an  insane  fanatic  for  a  prophet.  In  this  case,  this  "  little  learning "  actually 
caused  an  insurrection  in  his  favor,  in  order  to  make  him  king,  priest  and  prophet 
of  the  Ijritish  empire  ;  and  many  lives  were  sacrificed  before  this  insane  insurrec- 
tion was  put  down.  If  a  "  little  learning  "  is  a  ''  dangerous  thing,"  you  will  have 
to  keep  people  in  a  perfect  state  of  idiotcy  in  order  to  avoid  that  danger.  I 
would,  therefore,  say  that  both  the  recommendations  of  the  poet  are  impracti- 
cable. 

The  question  arises,  what  are  we  to  do  ?  Simply  to  impress  upon  ourselves 
and  upon  all  people  the  importance  of  laboring  Lii  that  much  neglected  branch 
of  human  knowledge — the  knowledge  of  our  own  ignorance ; — and  of  remember- 
ing that  it  is  by  a  confession  of  real  ignorance  that  real  knowledge  must  be  gained. 
But  even  when  that  further  knowledge  is  not  attained,  still  even  the  knowledge 
of  the  ignorance  is  a  great  thing  in  itself;  so  great,  it  seems,  as  to  .constitute 
Socrates  the  wisest  of  his  time. 

Some  of  the  chief  sources  of  unknown  ignorance  may  be  worth  noticing  here. 
They  are  to  be  found  in  our  not  being  aware  :  1.  How  inadequate  a  medium  lan- 
guage is  for  conveying  thought.  2.  How  inadequate  our  very  minds  are  for  the 
comprehension  of  many  things.  3.  How  little  we  need  understand  a  word  which 
may  yet  be  familiar  to  us,  and  which  we  may  use  in  reasoning.  Tliis  piece  of  ig- 
norance is  closely  connected  with  the  two  foregoing.  (Hence,  frequently,  men 
will  accept  as  an  explanation  of  a  phenomenon,  a  mere  statement  of  the  difficulty 
in  other  words.)  4.  How  utterly  ignorant  we  are  of  efficient  causes ;  and  how 
the  philosopher  who  refers  to  the  law  of  gravitation  the  falling  of  a  stone  to  the 
earth,  no  further  explains  the  phenomenon  than  the  peasant,  who  would  say  it  is 
the  nature  of  it.  The  philosopher  knows  that  the  stone  obeys  the  sajne  law  to 
which  all  other  bodies  are  subject,  and  to  which,  for  convenience,  he  gives  the 
name  of  gravitation.  His  knowledge  is  only  more  general  than  the  peasant's ; 
which,  however,  is  a  vast  advantage.  5.  How  many  words  there  are  that  express, 
not  the  nature  of  the  thing  they  are  applied  to,  but  the  manner  in  which  they 
affect  us  ;  and  which,  therefore,  give  about  as  correct  a  notion  of  those  things,  as 
the  word  "  crooked  "  would,  if  applied  to  a  stick  half  immcised  in  water.  (Such 
is  the  word  Chance,  with  all  its  family.)  G.  How  many  causes  may,  and  usually 
do,  conduce  to  the  same  eflfect.  7.  How  liable  the  faculties,  even  of  the  ablest, 
are  to  occasional  failure  ;  so  that  they  shall  overlook  mistakes  (and  those  often  the 
most  at  variance  with  their  own  established  notions)  which,  when  once  exposed, 
seem  quite  gross  even  to  inferior  men.  8.  How  much  all  arc  biassed,  in  all  their 
moral  reasonings,  by  self-love,  or  perhaps,  rather,  partially  to  human  nature,  and 
other  j)assion6.  9.  Dugald  Stewart  would  add  very  justly,  How  little  we  know 
of  matter;  no  more  indeed  than  of  mind;  though  all  are  prone  to  attempt  ex- 
plaining the  phenomena  of  mind  by  those  of  matter;  for,  what  is  familiar  men 
generally  consider  as  well  known,  though  the  fact  is  oftener  otherwise. 

The  errors  arising  from  these  causes,  and  from  not  calculating  on  them, — that 
is,  in  short,  from  ignorance  of  our  own  ignorance,  have  probably  impeded  philos- 
ophy more  than  all  other  obstacles  put  together. 

Certain  it  is,  that  only  by  this  ignorance  of  our  ignorance  can  "  a  little  learning  " 


LORD  BACON.  107 

become  *'  a  dangerous  thing."  The  dangers  of  knowledge  are  not  to  be  compared 
with  the  dangers  of  ignorance.  A  man  is  more  hkeiy  to  miss  his  way  in  darkness 
than  in  twilight:  in  twilight  than  in  full  sun.  And  those  contemners  of  studies 
who  say  (with  Mandeville,  in  his  Treatise  against  Charity-schools)  "  If  a  horse 
knew  as  much  as  a  man,  I  should  not  like  to  be  liis  rider,"  ought  to  add,  "  If  a 
man  knew  as  little  as  a  horse,  I  should  not  like  to 'trust  him  to  ride."  It  is  indeed 
possible  to  educate  the  children  of  the  poor  so  as  to  disqualify  them  for  an  humble 
and  laborious  station  in  life ;  but  this  mistake  does  not  so  much  consist  in  the 
amount  of  the  knowledge  imparted,  as  in  the  kind  and  the  manner  of  educa- 
tion. Habits  early  engiafted  on  children,  of  regular  attention,^ — of  steady  appli- 
cation to  what  they  are  about, — of  prompt  obedience  to  the  directions  they  re- 
ceive,— of  cleanliness,  order,  and  decent  and  modest  behavior,  can  not  but  be  of 
advantage  to  them  in  after  life,  whatever  their  station  may  be.  And  certainly, 
their  familiar  acquaintance  with  the  precepts  and  example  of  Him  who,  when  all 
stations  of  life  were  at  his  command,  chose  to  be  the  reputed  son  of  a  poor  me- 
chanic, and  to  live  with  peasants  and  fishermen ;  or,  again,  of  his  apostle  Paul, 
whose  own  hands  "  ministered  to  his  necessities,"  and  to  those  of  his  compan- 
ions : — such  studies,  I  say,  can  surely  never  tend  to  unfit  any  one  for  a  life  of 
humb'e  and  contented  industry. 

What,  then,  is  the  "  smattering  " — the  imperfect  and  superficial  knowledge — 
that  really  does  deserve  contempt?  A  slight  and  superficial  knowledge  is  justly 
condemned,  when  it  is  put  in  the  place  of  more  full  and  exact  knowledge.  Such 
an  acquaintance  with  chemistry  and  anatomy,  e.  g.  as  would  be  creditable,  and 
not  useless,  to  a  lawyer,  would  be  contemptible  for  a  physician ;  and  such  an 
acquaintance  with  law  as  would  be  desirable  for  him,  would  be  a  most  discredita- 
ble smattering  for  a  lawyer. 

It  is  to  be  observed  that  the  word  smattering  is  applied  to  two  different  kinds 
of  scanty  knowledge — the  rudimentary  and  the  superficial  ;  though  it  seems  the 
more  strictly  to  belong  to  the  latter.  Now,  as  it  is  evident  that  no  one  can  learn 
all  things  perfectly,  it  seems  best  for  a  man  to  make  some  pursuit  his  main  object, 
according  to,  first,  his  calling  ;  secondly,  his  natural  bent  ;  or  thirdly,  his  oppor- 
tunities :  then,  let  him  get  a  slight  knowledge  of  what  else  is  worth  it,  regulated 
in  his  choice  by  the  same  three  circumstances ;  which  should  also  determine,  in 
great  measure,  where  an  elementary  and  where  a  superficial  knowledge  is  desir- 
able. Such  as  are  of  the  most  dignified  and  philosophical  nature  are  most  proper 
for  elementary  study  ;  and  such  as  we  are  the  most  likely  to  be  called  upon  to 
practice  for  ourselves,  the  most  proper  for  superficial ;  e.  g.,  it  would  be  to  most 
men  of  no  practical  use,  and,  consequently,  not  worth  while,  to  learn  by  heart 
the  meaning  of  some  of  the  Chinese  characters ;  but  it  might  be  very  well  worth 
while  to  study  the  principles  on  which  that  most  singular  language  is  constructed  ; 
contra,  there  is  nothing  very  curious  or  interesting  in  the  structure  of  the  Portu- 
guese language;  but  if  one  were  going  to  travel  in  Portugal,  it  would  be  worth 
wh'le  to  pick  up  some  words  and  phrases.  If  both  circumstances  conspire,  then, 
both  kinds  of  information  are  to  be  sought  for ;  and  such  things  should  be  learaed 
a  little  at  both  ends ;  that  is,  to  understand  the  elementary  and  fundamental  prin- 
ciples, and  also  to  know  some  of  the  most  remarkable  results — a  little  of  the 
rudiments,  and  a  little  of  what  is  most  called  f(5r  in  practice.  E.  g.,  a  man  who 
has  not  made  any  of  the  physical  or  mathematical  sciences  his  favorite  pursuit, 
ought  yet  to  know  the  principles  of  geometrical  reasoning,  and  the  elements  of 


108 


LORD  BACON. 


meclianics ;  and  also  to  know,  by  rote,  something  of  the  niagnilude,  distances, 
and  motions  of  the  heavenly  bodies,  though  without  having  gone  over  the  inter- 
mediate course  of  scientific  demonstration. 

Grammar,  logic,  rhetoric,  and  metaphysics,  [or  the  philosophy  of  mind,J  are 
manifestly  studies  of  an  elementary  nature,  being  concerned  about  the  instru- 
ments wliich  wo  employ  in  eft'ecting  our  purposes  ;  and  ethics,  which  is,  in  fact, 
a  branch  of  metaphysics,  may  be  called  the  elements  of  conduct.  Such  knowl- 
edge is  far  from  showy.  Elements  do  not  much  come  into  sight;  they  are  like 
that  part  of  a  bridge  which  is  under  water,  and  is  therefore  least  admired,  though 
it  is  not  the  work  of  least  art  and  difficulty.  On  this  ground  it  is  suitable  to 
females,  as  least  leading  to  that  pedantry  which  learned  ladies  must_ever  be  pe- 
culiarly liable  to,  as  well  as  least  exciting  that  jealousy  to  which  they  must  ever 
be  exposed,  while  learning  in  them  continues  to  be  a  distinction.  A  woman 
might,  in  this  way,  be  very  learned  without  any  one's  finding  it  out. 

"Read  not  to  contradict  and  confute,  nor  to  believe  and  take  for  granted,  nor 

to  find  talk  and  discourse,  but  to  weigh  and  consider.     Some  books  are  to  be 

tasted,  others  to  be  swallowed,  and  some  few  to  be  chewed  and  digested.'^ 

It  would  have  been  well  if  Bacon  had  added  some  hints  as  to  the  mode  of 

study:  how  books  are  to  be  chewed,  and  swallowed,  and  digested.     For,  besides 

inattentive  readers,  who  measure  their  proficiency  by  the  pages  they  have  gone 

over,  it  is  quite  possible,  and  not  uncommon,  to  read  most  laboriously,  even  so  as 

to  get  by  heart  the  words  of  a  book,  without  really  studying  it  at  all  ;  that  is, 

without  employing  the  thoughts  on  the  subject. 

In  particular,  there  is,  in  reference  to  Scripture,^  "  a  habit  cherished  by  some 
persons,  of  reading — assiduously,  indeed — but  without  any  attentive  reflection  and 
studious  endeavor  to  ascertain  the  real  sense  of  what  they  read — concluding  that 
whatever  impression  is  found  to  be  left  on  the  mind  after  a  bare  perusal  of  the 
words,  must  be  what  the  sacred  writers  designed.  They  use,  in  short,  little  or 
none  of  that  care  which  is  employed  on  any  other  subject  in  which  we  are  much 
interested,  to  read  through  each  treatise  consecutively  as  a  whole, — to  compare 
one  passage  with  others  that  may  throw  light  on  it,  and  to  consider  what  was  the 
general  drift  of  the  author,  and  what  were  the  occasions,  and  the  persons  he  had 
in  view. 

"  In  fact,  the  real  students  of  Scripture,  properly  so  called,  are,  I  fear,  fewer 
than  is  commonly  supposed.  The  theological  student  is  often  a  student  chiefly  of 
some  human  system  of  divinity,  fortified  by  references  to  Scripture,  introduced 
from  time  to  time  as  there  is  occasion.  He  proceeds — often  unconsciously — by 
setting  himself  to  ascertain,  not  what  is  the  information  or  instruction  to  be  de- 
rived from  a  certain  narrative  or  discourse  of  one  of  the  sacred  writers,  but  what 
aid  can  be  derived  from  them  towards  establishing  or  refuting  this  or  that  point 
of  dogmatic  theology.  Such  a  mode  of  study  surely  ought  at  least  not  to  be 
exclusively  pursued.  At  any  rate,  it  can  not  properly  be  called  a  study  of 
Scripture. 

"  Tiiere  is,  in  fact,  a  danger  of  its  proving  a  great  hindrance  to  the  profitable 
study  of  Scripture ;  for  so  strong  an  association  is  apt  to  be  established  in  tiio 
mind  between  certain  expressions,  and  the  technical  sense  to  which  they  have 
been  confined  in  some  theological  system,  that  when  the  student  meets  with  them 

1  See  Essays  on  the  Difficyilties  of  St  Paul's  Epiattes,    Essay  X.  page  233. 


LORD  BACON.  109 

in  Scripture,  he  at  once  understands  them  in  that  sense,  In  passages  wliero  per- 
haps an  unbiassed  examination  of  the  context  would  plainly  show  that  such  was 
not  the  author's  meaning.  And  such  a  student  one  may  often  find  expressing  the 
most  unfeigned  wonder  at  the  blindness  of  those  who  can  not  find  in  Scripture 
such  and  such  doctrines,  which  appear  to  him  to  be  as  clearly  set  forth  there  as 
words  can  express;  which  perhaps  they  are, on  the  (often  gratuitous)  supposition 
that  those  words  are  everywhere  to  be  understood  exactly  in  the  sense  which  he 
has  previously  derived  from  some  human  system, — a  system  through  which,  as 
through  a  discolored  medium,  he  views  Scripture.  But  this  is  not  to  take  Scrip- 
ture for  one's  guide,  but  rather  to  make  one's  self  a  guide  to  Scripture. 

"  Others,  again,  there  are,  who  are  habitual  readers  of  the  Bible,  and  perhaps 
of  little  else,  but  who  yet  can  not  properly  be  said  to  study  anything  at  all  on  the 
subject  of  religion,  because,  as  was  observed  just  above,  they  do  not  even  attempt 
to  exercise  their  mind  on  the  subject,  but  trust  to  be  sufficiently  enlightened  and 
guided  by  the  mere  act  of  perusal,  while  their  minds  remain  in  a  passive  state. 
And  some,  I  believe,  proceed  thus  on  principle,  considering  that  they  are  the  bet- 
ter recipients  of  revealed  truth  the  less  they  exercise  their  own  reason. 

"But  this  is  to  proceed  on  a  totally  mistaken  view  of  the  real  province  of  rea- 
son. It  would,  indeed,  be  a  great  error  to  attempt  substituting  for  revelation 
conjectures  framed  in  our  own  mind,  or  to  speculate  on  matters  concerning  which 
we  have  an  imperfect  knowledge  imparted  to  us  by  revelation,  and  could  have 
had,  without  it,  none  at  all.  But  this  would  be,  not  to  use,  but  to  abuse,  our 
rational  faculties.  By  the  use  of  our  senses,  which  are  as  much  the  gift  of  the 
Creator  as  anything  else  we  enjoy, — and  by  employing  our  reason  on  the  objects 
around  us,  we  can  obtain  a  certain  amount  of  valuable  knowledge.  And  beyond 
tliis,  there  are  certain  other  points  of  knowledge  unattainable  by  these  faculties, 
and  which  God  has  thought  fit  to  impart  to  us  by  his  inspired  messengers.  But 
both  the  volumes — that  of  Nature  and  that  of  Revelation — which  He  has  thought 
good  to  lay  before  us,  are  to  be  carefully  studied.  On  both  of  them  we  must  dil- 
igently employ  the  faculties  with  which  He,  the  Author  of  both,  has  endued  us, 
if  we  would  derive  full  benefit  from  his  gifts. 

"  The  telescope,  we  know,  brings  within  the  sphere  of  our  own  vision  much 
that  would  be  undiscernible  by  the  naked  eye ;  but  we  must  not  the  less  employ 
our  eyes  in  making  use  of  it ;  and  we  must  watch  and  calculate  the  motions,  and 
reason  on  the  appearances,  of  the  heavenly  bodies,  which  are  visible  only  thi'ough 
the  telescope,  with  the  same  care  we  employ  in  respect  of  those  seen  by  the  naked 
eye. 

"And  an  analogous  procedure  is  requisite  if  we  would  derive  the  intended 
benefit  from  the  pages  of  inspiration,  which  were  designed  not  to  save  us  the 
trouble  of  inquiring  and  reflecting,  but  to  enable  us,  on  some  points,  to  inquire 
and  reflect  to  better  purpose, — not  to  supersede  the  use  of  our  reason,  but  to  sup- 
ply its  deficiencies." 

Although,  however,  it  is  quite  right,  and  most  important,  that  the  thoughts 
should  be  exercised  on  the  subject  of  what  you  are  reading,  there  is  one  mode  of 
exercising  the  thoughts  that  is  very  hurtful  ;  which  is,  that  of  substituting  con- 
jectures for  attention  to  what  the  author  says.  Preliminary  reflection  on  the 
subject  is,  as  has  been  above  said,  very  useful  in  many  cases;  though,  by  the 
way,  it  is  unsafe  as  a  preparation  for  the  study  of  Scripture  ;  and,  in  all  studies, 
care  should  be  taken   to  guard  against  allowing  the  judgment  to  be  biased  by 


110 


LORD  BACON. 


notions  hastily  and  prematurely  adopted.  And  again,  after  you  have  studied  an 
author,  it  will  be  very  advisable  (supposing  it  is  an  uninspired  and  consequently 
fallible  one)  to  reflect  on  what  he  says,  and  consider  whether  he  is  right,  and  how 
far. 

But  while  actually  engaged  in  perusal,  attend  to  what  the  writer  actually  says, 
and  endeavour  fairly  to  arrive  at  his  meaning,  before  you  proceed  to  speculate 
upon  it  for  yourself. 

The  stuily  of  a  book,  in  short,  should  be  conducted  nearly  according  to  the 
same  rule  that  Bacon  lays  down  for  the  study  of  nature.  He  warns  philosophers, 
earnestly  and  often,  against  substituting  for  what  he  calls  the  "  interrogatio  natu- 
raj,"  tlie  "  anticipatio  naturae  ;"  that  is,  instead  of  attentive  observation  and  ex- 
periment, forming  conjectures  as  to  what  seems  to  us  likely ,  ov  fitting,  according 
to  some  hypothesis  devised  by  ourselves.  In  like  manner,  in  studying  an  author, 
you  should  keep  apart  interpretation  and  conjecture. 

A  good  teacher  warns  a  student  of  some  book  in  a  foreign  language  that  he  is 
learning,  not  to  guess  what  the  author  is  likely  to  have  meant,  and  then  twist  the 
words  into  that  sense,  against  the  idiom  of  the  language  ;  but  to  be  led  by  the 
words  in  the  first  instance;  and  then,  if  a  difBculty  as  to  the  sense  remains,  to 
guess  which  of  the  possible  meanings  of  the  words  is  the  most  likely  to  be  the 
right. 

E.  g.  The  words  in  the  original  of  John  xviii.  15,  J  aXXos-  jiadnTfis;  plainly  sig- 
nify "  the  other  disciple;"  and  one  of  the  commentators,  perceiving  that  this  is 
inconsistent  with  the  opinion  he  had  taken  up,  that  this  disciple  was  John  him- 
self, (since  John  had  not  been  mentioned  before,  and  the  article,  therefore,  would 
make  it  refer  to  Judas,  who  alone  had  been  just  above  named,)  boldly  suggests 
that  the  reading  must  be  wrong,  (though  all  the  MSS.  agree  in  it,)  and  that  the 
article  ought  to  be  omitted,  because  it  spoils  the  sense ;  that  is,  the  sense  which 
agrees  with  a  conjecture  adopted  in  defiance  of  the  vi-ords  of  the  passage. 

This  one  instance  may  serve  as  a  specimen  of  the  way  in  which  some,  instead 
of  interpreting  an  author,  undertake  to  re-write  what  he  has  said. 

The  like  rule  holds  good  in  other  studies,  quite  as  much  as  in  that  of  a  language. 
We  should  be  ever  on  our  guard  against  the  tendency  to  read  through  colored 
spectacles. 

Educational  habits  of  thought,  analogies,  antecedent  reasonings,  feelings,  and 
wishes,  <fcc.,,will  be  always  leading  us  to  form  some  conjectural  hypothesis,  which 
is  not  necessarily  hurtful,  and  may  sometimes  furnish  a  useful  hint,  but  which 
must  be  most  carefully  watched,  lest  it  produce  an  unfair  bias,  and  lead  you  to 
strain  into  a  conformity  with  it  the  words  or  the  phenomena  before  you. 

A  man  sets  out  with  a  conjecture  as  to  what  the  Apostles  are  likely  to  have 
said,  or  ought  to  have  said,  in  conformity  with  the  the  theological  system  he  has 
learnt ;  or  what  the  Most  High  may  have  done  or  designed  ;  or  what  is  or  is  not 
agreeable  to  the  "analogy  of  faith,"  (see  Campbell  on  the  Gospels ;)  i.  e.,  of  a 
piece  with  the  christian  system — namely,  that  which  he  has  been  taught,  by  fal- 
hble  men,  to  regard  as  the  christian  system ;  and  then  he  proceeds  to  examine 
Scripture,  as  he  would  examine  with  leading  questions  a  witnes.s  whom  he  had 
summoned  in  his  cause. 

'•  As  the  fool  thinketh, 
So  tlie  bell  chinkelh." 

Perhaps  he  '^  prays  through  "  all  the  Bible  ;  not  with  a  candid  and  teachable 


LORD.  BACON.  -^n 

mind,  seeking  instruction,  but  unconsciously  praying  that  he  mny  find  himself  in 
the  right.     And  he  will  seldom  fail. 

"  Hie  liber  est  in  quo  quserit  sua  dogmata  quisque  ; 

Invenit  et  pariter  dogmata-quisque  sua." 
"  In  this  book  many  students  seek  each  one  to  find 

The  doctrine  or  precept  that's  most  to  his  mind : 

And  each  of  them  finds  what  they  earnestly  seek  ; 

For  as  the  fool  thinks,  even  so  the  bells  speak." 

It  is  the  same  with  philosophy.  If  you  have  a  strong  wish  to  find  phenomena 
such  as  to  confinn  the  conjectures  you  have  formed,  and  allow  that  wish  to  bias 
your  examination,  you  are  ill-fitted  for  interrogating  nature.  Both  that,  and  the 
other  volume  of  the  records  of  what  God  does, — Revelation, — are  to  be  interro- 
gated, not  as  witnesses,  but  as  instructors.  You  must  let  all  your  conjectures 
hang  loose  upon  you  ;  and  be  prepared  to  learn  /row  what  is  written  in  each  of 
those  volumes,  with  the  aid  of  the  conjectures  of  reason  ;  not  from  reason,  (nor, 
by  the  by,  from  feelings  and  fancies,  and  wishes,  and  human  authority,)  with 
Scripture  for  your  aid. 

This  latter  procedure,  which  is  a  very  common  one  with  theological  students, 
may  be  called  making  an  anagram  of  Scripture, — taking  it  to  pieces  and  recon- 
structing it  in  the  model  of  some  human  system  of  "  Institutes : "  building  a 
temple  of  one's  own,  consisting  of  the  stones  of  the  true  one  pulled  down  and 
put  together  in  a  new  fashion. 

Yet  divines  of  this  description  are  often  considered  by  others  as  well  as  by 
themselves,  pre-eminently  scriptural,  from  their  continual  employment  of  the 
very  words  of  Scripture,  and  their  readiness  in  citing  a  profusion  of  texts.  But, 
in  reality,  instead  of  using  a  human  commentary  on  Scripture,  they  use  Scripture 
itself  as  a  kind  of  commentary  on  some  human  system.  They  make  the  warp 
human,  and  interweave  an  abundance  of  Scripture  as  a  woof;  which  is  just  the 
reverse  of  the  right  procedure.  But  this  may  be  called,  truly,  in  a  certain  sense, 
'^taking  a  text  from  Scripture,"  "preaching  such  and  such  a  doctrine  out  of 
Scripture,"  and  "  improving  Scripture." 

Thus  it  is  that  men,  when  comparing  their  opinions  with  the  standard  of  God's 
Word,  suffer  these  opinions  to  bend  the  rule  by  which  they  are  to  be  measured. 
But  he  who  studies  the  Scriptures  should  remember  that  he  is  consulting  the 
Spirit  of  Truth,  and  if  he  would  hope  for  his  aid,  through  whose  enlightening  and 
supporting  grace  alone  those  Scriptures  can  be  read  with  advantage,  he  must 
search  honestly  and  earnestly  for  the  truth. 

^^Read  not  to  contradict  and  confute  ;  nor  to  believe  and  take  for  granted.'^ 
"With  respect  to  the  deference  due  to  the  opinions  (written  or  spoken)  of  intel- 
ligent and  well-informed  men,  it  may  be  remarked,  that  before  a  question  has 
been  fully  argued,  there  is  a  presumption  that  they  are  in  the  right;  but  after- 
wards, if  objections  have  been  brought  which  they  have  failed  to  answer,  the 
presumption  is  the  other  way.  The  wiser,  and  the  more  learned,  and  the  more 
numerous,  are  those  opposed  to  you,  and  the  more  strenuous  and  persevering 
their  opposition,  the  greater  is  the  probability  that  if  there  were  any  flaw  in  your 
argument  they  would  have  refuted  you.  And  therefore  your  adhering  to  an  op- 
posite opinion  from  theirs,  so  far  from  being  a  mark  of  arrogant  contempt,  is,  in 
reality,  the  strongest  proof  of  a  high  respect  for  them.     For  example — The 


J22  LORD  BACON. 

strongest  coiifiriiiation  of  tho  fidLlity  of  the  translations  of  Scripture  published 
by  the  Irish  School  Commissioners,  is  to  be  found  in  the  many  futile  attempts, 
made  by  many  able  and  learned  men,  to  detect  errors  in  them. 
This  important  distinction  is  often  overlooked. 

"Reading  maheth  a  full  man,  conference  a  ready  man,  and  ivriting  an  exact 

manP 

Writing  an  Analysis,  table  of  Contents,  Index,  or  Notes  to  any  book,  is  very 
important  for  the  study,  properly  so  called,  of  any  subject.  And  so,  also,  is  the 
practice  of  previously  conversing  or  writing  on  the  subject  you  are  about  to 
study. 

I  have  elsewhere  alluded  to  this  kind  of  practice,'  and  suggested  to  the  teacher 
"  to  put  before  his  pupils,  previously  to  their  reading  each  lesson,  some  questions 
pertaining  to  the  matter  of  it,  requiring  of  them  answers,  oral  or  written,  the  best 
they  can  think  of  without  consulting  the  book.  Next,  let  them  read  the  lesson, 
having  other  questions,  such  as  may  lead  to  any  needful  explanations,  put  before 
them  as  they  proceed.  And  afterwards  let  them  be  examined  (introducing  nu- 
merous examples  framed  by  themselves  and  by  the  teacher)  as  to  the  portion  they 
have  learned,  in  order  to  judge  how  far  they  remember  it. 

"Of  the  three  kinds  of  questions, — which  may  be  called,  1,  preliminary  ques- 
tions ;  2,  questions  of  instruction;  and  .3,  questions  of  examination, — the  last 
alone  are,  by  a  considerable  portion  of  instructors,  commonly  employed.  And 
the  elementary  books  commonly,  knovv'n  as  '  catechims,'  or  '  books  in  question  and 
answer,'  consist,  in  reality,  of  questions  of  this  description. 

"  But  the  second  kind — what  is  properly  to  be  called  instructive  questioning- 
is  employed  by  all  who  deserve  to  be  reckoned  good  teachers. 

"  The  first  kind — the  preliminary  questioning — is  employed  (s3-stematically  and 
constantly)  but  by  few.  And,  at  first  sight,  it  might  be  supposed  by  those  who 
have  not  had  experience  of  it,  that  it  would  be  likely  to  increase  the  learner's  dif- 
ficulties. But  if  any  well-qualified  instructor  will  but  carefully  and  judiciously 
try  the  experiment  (in  teaching  any  kind  of  science,)  he  will  be  surprised  to  find 
to  how  great  a  degree  this  exercise  of  the  student's  mind  on  the  subject  will  con- 
tribute to  his  advancement.  He  will  find  that  what  has  been  taught  in  the  mode 
above  suggested,  will  have  been  learnt  in  a  shorter  time,  will  have  been  far  the 
more  thoroughly  understood,  and  will  be  fixed  incomparably  the  better  in  tho 
memory." 

Curiosity  is  as  much  the  parent  of  attention,  as  attention  is  of  memory  ;  there- 
fore the  first  business  of  a  teacher — first,  not  only  in  point  of  time,  but  of  import- 
ance— should  be  to  excite,  not  merely  a  general  cuiiosity  on  the  subject  of  the 
study,  but  a  particular  curiosity  on  particular  points  in  that  subject.  To  teach  one 
who  has  no  curiosity  to  learn,  is  to  sow  a  field  without  ploughing  it. 

And  this  pi'ocess  saves  a  student  fronj  being  (as  many  are)  intellectually  dam- 
aged by  having  a  very  good  memory.  For  an  unskillful  teacher  is  content  to  put 
before  his  pupils  what  they  have  to  learn,  and  ascertaining  that  they  remember 
it.  And  thus  those  of  them  whose  memory  is  ready  and  attentive,  have  their 
mind  left  in  a  merely  passive  state,  and  are  like  a  person  always  carried  about  in 
a  sedan  chair,  till  he  has  almost  lost  the  use  of  his  limbs.  And  then  it  is  made  a 
wonder  that  a  person  who  has  been  so  well  taught,  and  who  wps  so  quick  in 

1  See  Preface  to  Easy  Lesfons  on  Reasoning.    Page  v. 


LORD  BACON. 


113 


learning  and  remembering,  should  not  prove  an  able  man ;  which  is  about  as 
reasonable  as  to  expect  that  a  capacious  cistern,  if  filled,  should  be  converted  into 
a  perennial  fountain.  Many  are  saved,  by  the  deficiency  of  their  memory,  from 
being  spoiled  by  their  education  ;  for  those  who  have  no  extraordinary  memory, 
are  driven  to  supply  its  defects  by  thinking.  If  they  do  not  remember  a  mathe 
matieal  demonstration,  they  are  driven  to  devise  one.  If  they  do  not  exactly 
retain  what  Aristotle  or  Smith  have  said,  they  are  driven  to  consider  what  they 
were  likeli/  to  have  said,  or  ought  to  have  said.  And  thus  their  faculties  are 
invigorated  bj-  exercise. 

Now,  this  kind  of  exercises  a  skillful  teacher  will  afford  to  all;  so  that  no  one 
shall  be  spoiled  by  the  goodness  of  his  memory. 

A  very  common  practice  may  be  here  noticed,  which  should  be  avoided,  if  we 
would  create  a  habit  of  studying  with  profit — that  of  making  children  learn  by 
rote  what  they  do  not  understand.  "  It  is  done  on  this  plea — that  they  will  here- 
after learn  the  meaning  of  what  they  have  been  thus  taught,  and  will  be  able  to 
make  a  practical  use  of  it.'"  But  no  attempt  at  economy  of  time  can  be  more 
injudicious.  Let  any  child  whose  capacity  is  so  far  matured  as  to  enable  him  to 
comprehend  an  explanation, — e.  g.,  of  the  Lord's  Prayer, — have  it  then  put  be- 
fore him  for  the  first  time,  and  when  he  is  made  acquainted  with  the  meaning  of 
it,  set  to  learn  it  by  heart ;  and  can  any  one  doubt  that,  in  less  than  a  half  a  day's 
application,  he  would  be  able  to  repeat  it  fluently  ?  And  the  same  would  be  the 
case  with  other  forms.  All  that  is  learned  by  rote  by  a  child  before  he  is  compe- 
tent to  attach  a  meaning  to  the  words  he  utters,  would  not,  if  all  put  together, 
amount  to  so  much  as  would  cost  him,  when  able  to  understand  it,  a  week's  labor 
to  learn  perfectly.  Whereas,  it  may  cost  the  toil,  often  the  vain  toil,  of  many 
years,  to  unlearn  the  habit  of  formalism — of  repeating  words  by  rote  without 
attending  to  their  meaning;  a  habit  which  every  one  conversant  with  education 
knows  to  be  in  all  subjects  most  readily  acquired  by  children,  and  with  difficulty 
avoided  even  with  the  utmost  care  of  the  teacher ;  but  which  such  a  plan  must 
inevitably  tend  to  generate.  It  is  often  said,  and  very  truly,  that  it  is  important 
to  form  early  habits  of  piety  ;  but  to  train  a  child  in  one  kind  of  habit,  is  not  the 
most  likely  way  of  forming  the  opposite  one  ;  and  nothing  can  be  more  contrary 
to  true  piety,  than  the  Romish  superstition  (for  such  in  fact  it  is)  of  attaching  effi- 
cacy to  the  repetition  of  a  certain  form  of  words  as  a  charm,  independent  of  the 
understanding  and  of  the  heart. 

"  It  is  also  said,  with  equal  truth,  that  we  ought  to  take  advantage  of  the  facility 
which  children  possess  of  learning ;  but  to  infer  from  thence,  that  Providence 
designs  us  to  make  sucli  a  use  (or  rather  abuse)  of  this  gift  as  we  have  been  cen- 
suring, is  as  if  we  were  to  take  advantage  of  the  readiness  with  which  a  new-born 
babe  swallows  wliatever  is  put  into  its  mouth,  to  dose  it  with  ardent  spirits,  instead 
of  wholesome  food  and  necessary  medicine.  The  readiness  with  which  children 
learn  and  remember  words,  is  in  truth  a  most  important  advantage  if  rightly  cm- 
ployed  ;  viz.,  if  applied  to  the  acquiring  that  mass  of  what  may  be  called  arbitrary 
knowledge  of  insulated  facts,  which  can  only  be  learned  by  rote,  and  which  is 
necessary  in  after  life ;  when  the  acquisition  of  it  would  both  be  more  trouble- 
some, and  would  encroach  on  time  that  might  otherwise  be  better  employed. 
Chronology,  names  of  countries,  weights  and  measures,  and  indeed  all  the  words 
of-  any  language,  are  of  this  description.     If  a  child  had  even  ten  times  the  ordi- 

1  London  Review.    No.  jti.,  pages  412,  413. 

8 


114  LORD  BACON. 

nary  degree  of  the  faculty  in  question,  a  judicious  teacher  would  find  abundance 
of  useful  employment  for  it,  without  resorting  to  any  that  could  possibly  be  detri- 
mental to  his  future  habits,  moral,  religious,  or  intellectual  " 

One  very  useful  precept  for  students,  is  never  to  remain  long  puzzling  out  any 
difficulty ;  but  lay  the  book  and  the  subject  aside,  and  return  to  it  some  hours 
after,  or  next  day  ;  after  having  turned  the  attention  to  something  else.  Some- 
times a  person  will  weary  his  mind  for  several  hours  in  some  efforts  (which  might 
have  been  spared)  to  make  out  some  difficulty ;  and  next  day,  when  he  returns  to 
tlie  subject,  will  find  it  quite  easy. 

The  like  takes  place  in  the  effort  to  recollect  some  vame.  Tou  may  fatigue 
yourself  in  vain  for  hours  together  ;  and  if  you  turn  to  something  else  (which  you 
might  as  well  have  done  at  once)  the  name  will,  as  it  were,  flash  across  you  with- 
out an  effort. 

There  is  something  analogous  to  this,  in  reference  to  the  scent  of  dogs.  When 
a  wounded  bird,  for  instance,  has  been  lost  in  the  the  thicket,  and  the  dogs  fail, 
after  some  search,  to  find  it,  a  skillful  sportsman  always  draws  them  off,  and  hunts 
them  elsewhere  for  an  hour,  and  then  brings  them  back  to  the  spot  to  try  afresh ; 
and  they  will  often,  then,  find  their  game  readily  :  though,  if  they  had  been  hunt- 
ing for  it  all  the  time,  they  would  have  failed. 

It  seems  as  if  the  dog — and  the  mind — having  got  into  a  kind  of  tcrong  track, 
continued  in  the  same  error,  till  drawn  completely  away  elsewhere. 

Alwa)-s  trust,  therefore,  for  the  overcoming  of  a  difficulty,  not  to  long  contin- 
ued study  after  you  have  once  got  bewildered,  but  to  repeated  trials,  at  intervals 

It  may  be  here  observed,  that  the  student  of  any  science  or  art  should  not  only 
distinctly  understand  all  the  technical  language,  and  all  the  rules  of  the  art,  but 
also  learn  them  by  heart,  so  that  they  may  be  remembered  as  familiarly  as  the 
alphabet,  and  employed  constantly  and  with  scrupulous  exactness.  Otherwise, 
technical  language  will  prove  an  encumbrance  instead  of  an  advantage,  just  as  a 
Buit  of  clothes  would  be,  if  instead  of  putting  them  on  and  wearing  them,  one 
should  carry  them  about  in  his  hand. 

"  There  is  no  stond  or  impediment  in  the  wit,  but  may  be  wrought  out  by  fit 

studies.^' 

It  is  a  pity  that  Bacon  did  not  more  fully  explain  the  mode  in  which  different 
kinds  of  studies  act  on  the  mind.  As  an  exercise  of  the  reasoning  faculty,  pure 
mathematics  is  an  admirable  exercise,  because  it  consists  of  reasoning  alone,  and 
does  not  encumber  the  student  with  any  exercise  of  judgment :  and  it  is  well 
always  to  begin  with  learning  one  thing  at  a  time,  and  to  defer  a  combination  of 
mental  exercises  to  a  later  period.  But  then  it  is  important  to  remember  that 
mathematics  does  not  exercise  the  judgment;  and  consequently,  if  too  exclu- 
sively pursued,  may  leave  the  student  very  ill  qualified  for  moral  reasonings. 

"The  definitions,  which  are  the  principles  of  our  reasoning,  are  very  few,  and 
the  axioms  still  fewer ;  and  both  are,  for  the  most  part,  laid  down  and  placed 
before  the  student  in  the  outset ;  the  introduction  of  a  new  definition  or  axiom 
being  of  comp.iratively  rare  occurrence,  at  wide  intervals,  and  with  a  formal 
statement,  besides  which,  there  is  no  room  for  doubt  concerning  either.  On  the 
other  hand,  in  all  reasonings  which  regard  matters  of  fact,  we  introduce,  almost 
at  every  step,  fresh  and  fresh  propositions  (to  a  very  great  number)  which  had  not 
been  elicited  in  the  course  of  our  reasoning,  but  are  taken  for  granted  ;  viz.,  facts, 


LORD  BACON.  115 

and  laws  of  nature,  which  are  here  the  principles  of  our  reasoning,  and  maxims, 
or  '  elements  of  belief,'  which  answer  to  the  axioms  in  mathematics.  If,  at  the 
opening  of  a  treatise,  for  example,  on  chemistry,  on  agriculture,  on  political  econ- 
omy, &c.,  the  author  should  make,  as  in  mathematics,  a  formal  statement  of  all 
the  propositions  he  intended  to  assume  as  granted,  throughout  the  whole  work, 
both  he  and  his  readers  would  be  astonished  at  the  number  ;  and,  of  these,  many 
would  bo  only  probable,  and  there  would  be  much  room  for  doubt  as  to  the  degree 
of  probability,  and  for  judgment  in  ascertaining  that  degree. 

"  Moreover,  mathematical  axioms  are  always  employed  precisely  in  the  same 
simple  form  :  e.  g.,  the  axiom  that  '  the  things  equal  to  the  same  are  equal  to 
one  another,'  is  cited,  whenever  there  is  need,  in  those  very  words ;  whereas  the 
maxims  employed  in  the  other  class  of  subjects,  admit  of,  and  require,  continual 
modifications  in  the  application  of  them.  E.  g.,  '  the  stability  of  the  laws  of 
nature,'  which  is  our  constant  assumption  in  inquiries  relating  to  natural  philos- 
ophy, appears  in  many  different  shapes,  and  in  some  of  them  does  not  possess  the 
same  complete  certainty  as  in  others ;  e.  g.,  when,  from  having  always  observed 
a  certain  sheep  ruminating,  we  infer,  that  this  individual  sheep  will  continue  to 
ruminate,  we  assume  that '  the  property  which  has  hitherto  belonged  to  this  sheep 
will  remain  unchanged  ;'  when  we  infer  the  same  property  of  all  sheep,  we 
assume  Uiat  *  the  property  which  belongs  to  this  individual  belongs  to  the  whole 
species ;'  if,  on  comparing  sheep  with  some  other  kinds  of  horned  animals,"  and 
finding  that  all  agree  in  ruminating,  we  infer  that '  all  horned  animals  ruminate,' 
we  assume  that  '  the  whole  of  a  genus  or  class  are  likely  to  agree  in  any  point 
wherein  many  species  of  that  genus  agree ;'  or  in  other  words,  '  that  if  one  of  two 
properties,  &c.,  has  often  been  found  accompanied  by  another,  and  never  without 
it,  the  former  will  be  universally  accompanied  by  the  latter  j'  now  all  these  are 
merely  different  forms  of  the  maxim,  that  '  nature  is  uniform  in  her  operations,' 
which,  it  is  evident,  varies  in  expression  in  almost  every  different  case  where  it  is 
applied,  and  the  application  of  which  admits  of  every  degree  of  evidence,  from 
perfect  moral  certainty,  to  mere  conjecture. 

"  The  same  may  be  said  of  an  infinite  number  of  principles  and  maxims  appro- 
priated to,  and  employed  in,  each  particular  branch  of  study.  Hence,  all  such 
reasonings  are,  in  comparison  of  mathematics,  very  complex ;  requiring  so  much 
more  than  that  does,  beyond  the  process  of  merely  deducing  the  conclusion  logic- 
ally from  the  premises :  so  that  it  is  no  wonder  that  the  longest  mathematical  dem- 
onstration should  be  so  much  more  easily  constructed  and  understood  than  a  much 
shorter  train  of  just  reasoning  concerning  real  facts.  The  former  has  been  aptly 
compared  to  a  long  and  steep,  but  even  and  regular,  flight  of  steps,  which  tries  the 
breath,  and  the  strength,  and  the  perseverance  only ;  while  the  latter  resembles  a 
short,  but  rugged  and  uneven,  ascent  up  a  precipice,  which  requires  a  quick  eye, 
agile  limbs,  and  a  firm  step ;  and  in  which  we  have  to  tread  now  on  this  side, 
now  on  that — ever  considering,  as  we  proceed,  whether  this  or  that  projection 
will  afford  room  for  our  foot,  or  whether  some  loose  stone  may  not  slide  from 
under  us.  There  are  probably  as  many  steps  of  pure  reasoning  in  one  of  the 
longer  of  Euclid's  demonstrations,  as  in  the  whole  of  an  argumentative  treatise 
on  some  other  subject,  occupying  perhaps  a  considerable  volume. 

1  Viz.,  having  horns  on  the  skull.  What  are  called  the  horns  of  the  rhinoceros  are  quite 
different  in  origin,  and  in  structure,  as  well  as  In  situation,  from  what  are  properly  called 
nuriis. 


Ug  LORD  BACON. 

"  It  may  be  observed  here  that  mathematical  reasoning,  as  it  calls  for  no  exer- 
cise of  judgment  respecting  probabilities,  is  the  best  kind  of  introductory  exercise  ; 
and  from  the  same  cause,  is  apt,  when  too  exclusively  pursued,  to  make  men  incor- 
rect moral  reasoners. 

"  As  for  those  ethical  and  legal  reasonings  which  were  lately  mentioned  as  in 
some  respects  resembling  those  of  mathematics,  (viz.,  such  as  keep  clear  of  all 
assertions  respecting  facts,)  they  have  this  difference ;  that  not  only  men  are  not 
80  comi)k''telj'  agreed  respecting  the  maxims  and  principles  of  ethics  and  law,  but 
the  meaning  also  of  each  term  can  not  be  absolutely,  and  for  ever,  fixed  by  an 
arbitrary  definition;  on  the  contrary,  a  great  part  of  our  labor  consists  in  distin- 
guishing accurately  the  various  senses  in  which  men  employ  each  term, — ascer- 
taining which  is  the  most  proper, — and  taking  care  to  avoid  confounding  them 
together. 

"  It  may  be  worth  while  to  add  in  this  place,  that  as  a  candid  disposition, — a 
hearty  desire  to  judge  fairly,  and  to  attain  truth, — are  evidently  necessary  with  a 
view  to  give  fair  play  to  the  reasoning  powers,  in  subjects  where  we  are  liable  to 
a  bias  from  interest  or  feelings,  so,  a  fallacious  perversion  of  this  maxim  finds  a 
place  iu  the  minds  of  some  persons;  who  accordingly  speak  disparagingly  of  all 
exercise  of  the  reasoning  faculty  in  moral  and  religious  subjects  ;  declaiming  on 
the  insufficiency  of  mere  intellectual  power  for  the  attainment  of  truth  in  such 
matters, — on  the  necessity  of  appealing  to  the  heart  rather  than  to  the  head,  &c., 
and  then  leading  their  readers  or  themselves  to  the  conclusion  that  the  less  we 
reason  on  such  subjects  the  safer  we  are. 

"  But  the  proper  office  of  candor  is  to  prepare  the  mind  not  for  the  rejection 
of  all  evidence,  but  for  the  right  reception  of  evidence  ; — not  to  be  a  substitute 
for  reasons,  but  to  enable  us  fairly  to  weigh  the  reasons  on  both  sides.  Such 
persons  as  I  am  alluding  to  are  in  fact  saying  that  since  just  weights  alone,  with- 
out a  just  balance,  will  avail  nothing,  therefore  we  have  only  to  take  care  of  the 
scales,  and  let  the  weights  take  care  of  themselves. 

"  This  kind  of  tone  is  of  course  most  especially  to  be  found  in  such  writert  as 
consider  it  expedient  to  inculcate  on  the  mass  of  mankind  what — there  is  reason 
to  sus])ect — they  do  not  themselves  fully  believe,  and  which  they  apprehend  is 
the  more  likely  to  be  rejected  the  more  it  is  investigated," 

A  curious  anecdote  (which  I  had  heard,  in  substance,  some  years  before)  was 
told  me  by  the  late  Sir  Alexander  Johnstone.  When  he  was  acting  as  temporary 
governor  of  Ceylon,  (soon  after  its  cession,)  he  sat  once  as  judge  in  a  trial  of  a 
prisoner  for  a  robbery  and  murder ;  and  the  evidence  seemed  to  him  so  conclu- 
sive, that  he  was  about  to  charge  the  jury  (wlio  were  native  Cingalese)  to  find  a 
verdict  of  guilty.  But  one  of  the  jury  asked  and  obtained  permission  to  examine 
tlie  witnesses  liimself.  lie  had  them  brought  in  one  by  one,  and  cross-examined 
them  so  ably  as  to  elicit  the  fact  that  they  were  themselves  the  perpetrators  of  the 
crime,  which  they  afterwards  had  conspired  to  impute  to  the  prisoner.  And  they 
were  accordingly  put  on  their  trial  and  convicted. 

Sir  A.  J.  was  greatly  struck  by  the  intelligence  displayed  by  this  juror;  the 
more,  as  he  was  only  a  small  farmer,  who  was  not  known  to  have  had  any 
"remarkable  advantages  of  education.  He  sent  for  him,  and  after  commending 
the  wonderful  sagacity  he  had  shown,  inquired  eagerly  what  his  studies  had  been. 
The  man  replied  that  he  had  never  read  but  one  book,  the  only  one  he  possessed, 
which  had  long  been  in  his  family,  and  which  he  delighted  to  study  in  his  leisure 


LORD  BACON. 


117 


hours.  This  book  he  was  prevailed  on  to  show  to  Sir  A.  J.,  who  put  it  into  the 
hands  of  one  who  knew  the  Cingalese  language.  It  turned  out  to  be  a  translation 
into  that  language  of  a  large  portion  of  Aristotle's  Organon.  It  appears  that  the 
Portuguese,  when  they  first  settled  in  Ceylon  and  other  parts  of  the  East,  trans- 
lated into  the  native  languages  several  of  the  works  then  studied  in  the  European 
Universities ;  among  which  were  the  Latin  versions  of  Aristotle. 

The  Cingalese  in  question  said  that  if  his  understanding  had  been  in  any  de- 
gree cultivated  and  improved,  it  was  to  that  book  he  owed  it. 

It  is  very  important  to  warn  all  readers  of  the  influence  likely  to  be  exercised 
in  the  formation  of  their  opinions,  indirectly^  and  by  works  not  professedly  argu- 
mentative, such  as  Poems  and  Tales.  Fletcher  of  Saltoun  said,  he  would  let  any 
one  have  the  making  of  the  laws  of  a  country,  if  he  might  have  the  making  of 
their  ballads. 

An  observation  in  the  Lectures  on  Political  Economy  on  one  cause  which  has 
contributed  to  foster  an  erroneous  opinion  of  the  superior  moral  purity  of  poor  and 
half-civilized  countries,  is  equally  applicable  to  a  multitude  of  other  cases,  on 
various  subjects.  "  One  powerful,  but  little  suspected  cause,  I  take  to  be,  an 
early  familiarity  with  poetical  descriptions  of  pure,  unsophisticated,  rustic  life,  in 
remote,  sequestered,  and  unenlightened  districts ; — of  the  manly  virtue  and  prac- 
tical wisdom  of  our  simple  forefathers,  before  the  refinements  of  luxury  had  been 
introduced ; — of  the  adventurous  wddness,  so  stimulating  to  the  imagination,  of 
savage  or  pastoral  lite,  in  the  midst  of  primaeval  forests,  lolly  mountains,  and  all 
the  grand  scenery  of  uncultivated  nature.  Such  subjects  and  scenes  are  much 
better  adapted  for  poets,  than  thronged  cities,  workshops,  coalpits,  and  iron-found- 
ries. And  poets,  whose  object  is  to  please,  of  course  keep  ou^  of  sight  all  the 
odious  or  disgusting  circumstances  pertaining  to  the  life  of  the  savage  or  the  un- 
tutored clown,  and  dwell  exclusively  on  all  the  amiable  and  admirable  pai-ts  of 
that  simplicity  of  character  which  they  feign  or  fancy.  Early  associations  are 
thus  formed,  whose  influence  is  often  the  stronger  and  the  more  lasting,  from  the 
very  circumstance  that  they  are  formed  unconsciously,  and  do  not  come  in  the 
form  of  propositions  demanding  a  deliberate  assent.  Poetry  does  not  profess  to 
aim  at  conviction;  but  it  often  leaves  impressions  which  afllct  the  reitsoning  and 
the  judgment.  And  a  false  impression  is  perhaps  oftener  conveyed  in  other  ways 
than  by  sophistical  argument ;  because  that  rouses  the  mind  to  exert  its  powers, 
and  to  assume,  as  it  were,  a  reasoning  mood."' 

The  influence  exercised  by  such  works  is  overlooked  by  those  who  suppose  that 
a  child's  character,  moral  and  intellectual,  is  formed  by  those  books  only  which 
are  put  into  his  liands  with  that  design.  As  hardly  anything  can  accidentally 
touch  the  soft  clay  without  stamping  its  mark  on  it,  so,  hardly  any  reading  can 
interest  a  child  without  contributing  in  some  degree,  though  tbe  book  itself  be 
afterwards  totally  forgotten,  to  form  the  cliaracter ;  and  the  parents,  therefore, 
who,  merely  requiring  from  him  a  certain  course  of  study,  pay  httle  or  no  atten- 
tion to  story-books,  are  educating  him  they  know  not  how. 

And  here,  I  would  observe  that  in  books  designed  for  children  there  are  two 
extremes  that  should  be  avoided.     The  one,  that  reference  to  religious  principieu 

1  In  an  article  in  a  Review  I  have  seen  mention  macleof  a  person  who  discovered  the  falsity 
of  a  certain  doctrine  (which,  by  the  way,  is  nevertheless  a  true  one,  thatof  Mallhii.'i,)  inslincl- 
xely.  This  kind  of  Instinct,  i.  e.  the  habit  of  forming  opinions  at  the  suei,'estion  rather  ol 
feehng  than  of  reason,  is  very  coaimou. 


118 


LORD  BACON. 


in  contiection  with  matters  too  trifling  and  undignified,  arising  from  a  well-inten- 
tioned zeal,  causing  a  forgetfulness  of  the  maxim  whose  notorious  truth  has  made 
it  proverbial,  "Too  much  familiarity  breeds  contempt."  And  the  other  is  the 
contrary,  and  still  more  prevailing  extreme,  arising  from  a  desire  to  preserve  a 
due  reverence  for  religion,  at  the  expense  of  its  useful  application  in  conduct. 
IJut  a  line  may  be  drawn  which  will  keep  clear  of  both  extremes.  We  should 
not  exclude  the  association  of  things  sacred  with  whatever  are  to  ourselves  tri- 
fling matters,  (for  "these  little  things  are  great"  to  children,)  but,  with  whatever 
is  viewed  by  them  as  trifling.  Every  thing  is  great  or  small  in  reference  to  the 
parties  concerned.  The  private  concerns  of  any  obscure  individual  are  very  insig- 
nificant to  the  world  at  large,  but  they  are  of  great  importance  to  himself.  And 
all  worldly  affairs  must  be  small  in  the  sight  of  the  Most  High  ;  but  irreverent 
familiarity  is  engendered  in  the  mind  of  any  one,  then,  and  then  only,  when  things 
sacred  are  associated  with  such  as  are,  to  him,  insignificant  things. 

And  here  I  would  add  that  those  works  of  fiction  are  worse  than  unprofitable  that 
inculcate  morality,  with  an  exclusion  of  all  reference  to  religious  principle.  This  is 
obviously  and  notoriously  the  character  of  Miss  Edgeworlh's  moral  tales.  And 
so  entire  and  resolute  is  this  exclusion,  that  it  is  maintained  at  the  expense  of 
what  may  be  called  poetical  truth  ;  it  destroys,  in  many  instances,  the  probability 
of  the  tale,  and  the  naturalness  of  the  characters.  That  Christianity  does  exist, 
every  one  must  believe  as  an  incontrovertible  truth  ;  nor  can  any  one  deny  that, 
whether  true  or  false,  it  does  exercise, — at  least  is  supposed  to  exercise, — an  in- 
fluence on  the  feelings  and  conduct  of  some  of  the  bchevers  in  it.  To  represent, 
therefore,  persons  of  various  ages,  sex,  country,  and  station  in  life,  as  practicing, 
on  the  most  trying  occasions,  every  kind  of  duty,  and  encountering  every  kind 
of  danger,  difficulty,  and  hardship,  while  none  of  them  ever  makes  the  least  ref- 
erence to  a  religious  motive,  is  as  decidedly  at  variance  with  reality, — what  is 
called  in  works  of  fiction  unnatural, — as  it  would  be  to  represent  Mahomet's 
enthusiastic  followers  as  rushing  into  battle  without  any  thought  of  his  promised 
paradise.  This,  therefore,  is  a  blemish  in  point  of  art,  which  every  reader  pos- 
sessing taste  must  perceive,  whatever  may  be  his  religious  or  non-religious  per- 
suasion. But  a  far  higher,  and  more  important,  question  than  that  of  taste  is 
involved.  For  though  Miss  Edgeworth  may  entertain  opinions  which  would  not 
permit  her,  with  consistency,  to  attribute  more  to  the  influence  of  religion  than 
she  has  done,  and  in  that  case  may  stand  acquitted,  in  faro  conscientioE,  of  will- 
fully suppressing  anything  which  she  acknowledges  to  be  true  and  important ; 
yet,  as,  a  writer,  it  must  still  be  considered  as  a  great  blemish,  in  the  eyes  at 
least  of  those  who  think  diflferently,  that  virtue  should  be  studiously  inculcated, 
with  scarcely  any  reference  to  what  they  regard  as  the  mainspring  of  it, — Uiat 
vice  should  be  traced  to  every  other  source  except  the  want  of  religious  princi- 
ple,— that  the  most  radical  change  from  worthlessness  to  excellence  should  be 
represented  as  wholly  independent  of  that  Agent  which  they  consider  as  the  only 
one  that  can  accomplish  it, — and  that  consolation  under  affliction  should  be  repre- 
sented as  derived  from  evei-y  source,  except  the  one  which  they  look  to  as  the 
only  true  and  sure  one.  "  Is  it  not  because  there  is  no  God  in  Israel,  that  ye  have 
sent  to  inquire  of  Baalzebub,  the  God  of  Ekron  ?"  This  vital  defect  in  such  works 
should  be  constantly  pointed  out  to  the  young  reader ;  and  he  should  be  warned 
that,  to  realize  the  picture  of  noble,  disinterested,  thorough-going  virtue,  pre- 
sented in  such  and  such  an  instance,  it  is  absolutely  necessary  to  resort  to  those 


LORD  BACON.  H9 

principles  which  in  these  fictions  are.  unnoticed.  He  should,  in  short,  be  reminded 
that  all  these  "  things  that  are  lovely  and  of  good  report,"  which  have  been  placed 
before  him,  are  the  genuine  fruits  of  the  Holy  Land  ;  though  the  spies  who  have 
brought  them  bring  also  an  evil  report  of  that  land,  and  would  persuade  us  to 
remain  wandering  in  the  wilderness. 

The  student  of  history,  also,  should  be  on  his  guard  against  the  indirect  influ- 
ence likely  to  be  exercised  on  his  opinions.  On  this  point  I  take  the  liberty  of 
quoting  a  passage  from  my  Lectures  on  Political  Economy : — 

"An  injudicious  reader  of  history  is  liable  to  be  misled  by  the  circumstance, 
that  historians  and  travelers  occupy  themselves  principally  (as  is  natural)  with 
the  relation  of  whatever  is  remarkable,  and  different  from  what  commonly  takes 
place  in  their  own  time  or  country.  They  do  not  dwell  on  the  ordinary  transac- 
tions of  human  life,  (which  are  precisely  what  furnish  the  data  on  which  political 
economy  proceeds,)  but  on  every  thing  that  appears  an  exception  to  general 
rules,  and  in  any  way  such  as  could  not  have  been  anticipated.  The  sort  of 
information  which  the  political  economist  wants  is  introduced,  for  the  most  part, 
only  incidentally  and  obliquely  ;  and  is  to  be  collected,  imperfectly,  from  scattered 
allusions.  So  that  if  you  will  give  a  rapid  glance,  for  instance,  at  the  history  of 
these  islands,  from  the  time  of  the  Norman  conquest  to  the  present  day,  you  will 
find  that  the  differences  between  the  two  states  of  the  country,  in  most  of  the 
points  with  which  our  science  is  conversant,  are  but  very  imperfectly  accounted 
for  in  the  main  outline  of  the  narrative. 

"  If  it  were  possible  that  we  could  have  a  full  report  of  the  common  business 
and  common  conversation,  in  the  markets,  the  shops,  and  the  wharfs  of  Athens 
and  Piraeus,  for  a  single  day,  it  would  probable  throw  more  light  on  the  state  of 
things  in  Greece  at  that  time,  in  all  that  political  economy  is  most  concerned  with, 
than  all  the  histories  that  are  extant  put  together. 

"  There  is  a  danger,  therefore,  that  the  mind  of  the  student,  who  proceeds  in 
the  manner  I  have  described,  may  have  been  even  drawn  off  from  the  class 
of  facts  which  are,  for  the  purpose  in  question,  most  important  to  be  attended  to. 

"  For,  it  should  be  observed  that  in  all  studies  there  is  a  danger  to  be  guarded 
against,  which  Bacon,  with  his  usual  acuteness,  has  pointed  out :  that  most  men 
are  so  anxious  to  make  or  seek  for  some  application  of  what  they  have  been 
learning,  as  not  unfrequently  to  apply  it  improperly,  by  endeavoring,  lest  their 
knowledge  should  lie  by  them  idle,  to  bring  it  to  bear  on  some  question  to  which 
it  is  irrelevant ;  like  Horace's  painter,  who,  being  skillful  in  drawing  a  cypress, 
was  for  introducing  one  into  the  picture  of  a  shipwreck.  Bacon  complains  of 
this  tendency  among  the  logicians  and  metaphysicians  of  his  day,  who  introduced 
an  absurd  and  pernicious  application  of  the  studies  in  which  they  had  been  con- 
versant, into  natural  philosophy  :  '  Artis  saepe  ineptus  fit  usus,  ne  sit  nullus.^ 
But  the  same  danger  besets  those  conversant  in  every  other  study  likewise, 
(political  economy  of  course  not  excepted,)  that  may  from  time  to  time  have 
occupied  a  largo  share  of  each  man's  attention.  He  is  tempted  to  seek  for  a 
solution  of  every  question  on  every  subject,  by  a  reference  to  his  own  favorite 
science  or  branch  of  knowledge;  like  a  schoolboy  when  first  intrusted  with  a 
knife,  who  is  for  trying  its  edge  on  every  thing  that  comes  in  his  way. 

"  Now  in  reference  to  the  point  immediately  before  us,  ho  who  is  well  read  in 
history  and  in  travels  should  be  warned  of  the  danger  (the  more  on  account  of 
the  real  high  importance  of  such  knowledge)  of  misapplying  it, — of  supposing 


120 


LORD  BACON. 


that  because  political  economy  is  conversant  with  human  transactions,  and  he  is 
acquainted  with  so  much  greater  an  amount  of  human  tranmctiona  than  the 
generality  of  men,  he  must  have  an  advantage  over  them  in  precisely  the  same 
degree,  in  discussing  questions  of  political  economy.  UndoulRedly  he  heu  a 
great  advantage,  if  he  is  careful  to  keep  in  view  the  true  principles  of  the  science ; 
but  otherwise  he  may  even  labor  under  a  dis- advantage,  by  forgetting  that  (as  I 
just  now  observed)  the  kind  of  transactions  which  are  made  most  prominent  and 
occupy  the  chief  space,  in  the  works  of  historians  and  travelers,  are  usually  not 
those  of  every-day  life,  with  which  political  economy  is  conversant.  It  is  in  the 
same  way  that  an  accurate  military  survey  of  any  district,  or  a  series  of  sketches 
accompanying  a  picturesque  tour  through  it,  may  even  serve  to  mislead  one  who 
is  seeking  for  a  knowledge  of  its  agricultural  condition,  if  he  does  not  keep  in 
mind  the  different  objects  which  different  kinds  of  survey  have  in  view. 

"  Geologists,  when  commissioning  their  friends  to  procure  them  from  any  for- 
eign country  such  specimens  as  may  convey  an  idea  of  its  geological  character, 
are  accustomed  to  warn  them  against  sending  over  collections  of  curiosities — t.  e.  ' 
specimens  of  spars,  stalactites,  &c.,  which  are  accounted,  in  that  country,  curious, 
from  being  rarities,  and  which  consequently  convey  no  correct  notion  of  its  gen- 
eral features.  What  they  want  is,  specimens  of  the  commonest  strata, — the 
stones  with  which  the  roads  are  mended,  and  the  liouses  built,  &e.  And  some 
fragments  of  these,  which  in  that  country  are  accounted  mere  rubbish,  they 
sometimes,  with  much  satisfaction,  find  casually  adhering  to  the  specimer»s  sent 
them  as  curiosities,  and  constituting,  for  their  object,  the  most  important  part 
of  the  collection.  Historicsare  in  general,  to  the  political  economist,  what  such 
collections  are  to  the  geologist.  The  casual  allusions  to  common,  and  what  are 
considered  insignificant  matters,  conveying  to  him  the  most  valuable  information. 

"An  injudicious  study  of  history,  then,  may  even  prove  a  hindrance  instead 
of  a  help  to  the  forming  of  right  views  of  political  economy.  For  not  only  are 
many  of  the  transactions  which  are,  in  the  historian's  view,  the  most  important, 
such  as  are  the  least  important  to  the  political  economist,  but  also  a  great  propor- 
tion of  them  consists  of  what  are  in  reality  the  greatest  impediments  to  the  prog- 
ress of  a  society  in  wealth :  viz.,  wars,  revolutions,  and  disturbances  of  every 
kind.  It  is  not  in  consequence  of  these,  but  in  spite  of  them,  that  society  has 
made  the  progress  which  in  fact  it  has  made.  So  that  in  taking  such  a  survey 
as  history  furnislus  of  the  course  of  events,  for  instance,  for  the  last  eight  hund- 
red years,  (the  period  I  just  now  alluded  to,)  not  only  do  we  find  little  mention 
of  the  causes  which  have  so  greatly  increased  national  wealth  during  that  period, 
but  what  we  chiefly  do  read  of  is,  the  counteracting  causes  ;  especially  the  wars 
which  have  been  raging  from  time  to  time,  to  the  destruction  of  capitiil,  and  tho 
hindrance  of  improvement.  Now,  if  a  ship  had  performed  a  voyage  of  eight 
hundred  leagues,  and  the  register  of  it  contained  an  account  chiefly  of  the  con- 
trary winds  and  currents,  and  made  little  mention  of  favorable  gales,  we  might 
well  be  at  a  loss  to  understand  how  she  reached  her  destination  ;  and  might  even 
be  led  into  the  mistake  of  supposing  that  the  contrary  winds  had  forwarded  her 
in  her  course.     Yet  such  is  history  !" 

In  reference  to  the  study  of  history,  I  have  elsewlicre  remarked  upon  tlie  im 
portance,  among  the  intellectual  qualifications  for  such  a  study,  of  a  vivid  imag- 
ination,— a  faculty  which,  consequently,  a  skillful  narrator  must  himself  possess, 
and  to  which  he  must  be  able  to  furnish  excitement  in  others.     Some  may,  per 


LORD  BACON. 


121 


haps,  be  startled  at  this  remark,  who  have  been  accustomed  to  consider  imagina- 
tion as  having  no  other  office  than  to  feign  and  to  falsify.  Every  faculty  is  liable 
to  abuse  and  misdirection,  and  imagination  nmong  the  rest ;  but  it  is  a  mistake 
to  suppose  that  it  necessarily  tends  to  pervert  the  truth  of  history,  and  to  mislead 
the  judgment.  On  the  contrary,  our  view  of  any  transaction,  especially  one  that 
is  remote  in  time  or  place,  will  necessarily  be  imperfect,  generally  incorrect,  unless 
it  embrace  something  more  tlian  the  bare  outline  of  the  occurrences, — unless  we 
have  before  the  mind  a  lively  idea  of  the  scenes  in  which  the  events  took  place, 
the  habits  of  tliought  and  of  feehng  of  the  actors,  and  all  the  circumstances  con- 
nected with  the  transaction  ;  unless,  in  short,  we  can  in  a  considerable  degree 
transport  ourselves  out  of  our  own  age,  and  country,  and  persons,  and  imagine 
ourselves  the  agents  or  spectators.  It  is  from  consideration  of  all  these  circum- 
stances that  we  are  enabled  to  form  a  right  judgment  as  to  the  facts  which  history 
records,  and  to  derive  instruction  from  it.  What  we  imagine  may  indeed  be 
merely  imaginary,  that  is,  unreal ;  but  it  may  again  be  what  actually  does  or  did 
exist.  To  say  that  imagination,  if  not  regulated  by  sound  judgment  and  sufficient 
knowledge,  may  chance  to  convey  to  us  false  impressions  of  past  events,  is  only 
to  say  that  man  is  fallible.  But  such  false  impressions  are  even  mvch  the  more 
likely  to  take  possession  of  those  whose  imagination  is  feeble  or  uncultivated. 
They  are  apt  to  imagine  the  things,  persons,  times,  countries,  &c.,  which  they 
read  of,  as  much  less  different  from  what  they  see  around  them  than  is  really  the 
case. 

The  practical  importance  of  such  an  exercise  of  imagination  to  a  full,  and 
clear,  and  consequently  profitable  view  of  the  transactions  related  in  history,  can 
hardly  be  over-estimati  d.  In  respect  of  the  very  earliest  of  all  human  transac- 
tions, it  is  matter  of  common  remark  how  prone  many  are  to  regard  with  mingled 
wonder,  contempt,  and  indignation,  the  transgression  of  our  first  parents;  as  if 
they  were  not  a  fair  saniple  of  the  human  race ;  as  if  any  of  us  would  not,  if 
he  had  been  placed  in  precisely  tlie  same  circumstances,  have  acted  as  they 
did.  The  Corinthians,  probably,  had  perused  with  the  same  barren  wonder  the 
history  of  the  backslidings  of  the  Israelites ;  and  needed  that  Paul  should  remind 
them,  that  these  things  were  written  for  their  example  and  admonition.  And 
all,  in  almost  every  portion  of  history  they  read,  have  need  of  a  corresponding 
warning,  to  endeavoi-  to  fancy  themselves  the  persons  they  read  of,  that  they  may 
recognize  in  tlie  accounts  of  past  times  the  portraiture  of  our  own.  From  not 
putting  ourselves  in  the  place  of  the  persons  living  in  past  times,  and  entering 
fully  into  all  their  feelings,  we  are  apt  to  forget  how  probable  many  things  might 
appear,  which  we  know  did  not  take  place ;  and  to  regard  as  perfectly  cliimeri- 
cal,  expectations  which  we  know  were  not  localized,  but  which,  had  we  lived  in 
those  times,  we  should  doubtless  have  entertained;  and  to  imagine  that  there  was 
no  danger  of  those  evils  which,  were,  in  fact,  escaped.  We  are  apt  also  to  make 
too  little  allowances  for  prejudices  and  associations  of  ideas,  wliich  no  longer  exist 
precisely  in  the  same  form  among  ourselves,  but  which,  perhaps,  are  not  more  at 
variance  with  right  reason  than  others  with  which  ourselves  are  infected. 

^^  Studies  serve  for  delight,  for  ornament,  and  for  ability.'^ 
We  should,  then,  cultivate,  not  only  the  cornfields  of   our  minds,  but  the 
pleasure-grounds  also.     Every  faculty  and  every  study,  however  worthless  they 
may  be,  when  not  employed  in  the  service  of  God, — however  debased  and  pol- 


122 


LOUD  BACON. 


luted  when  devoted  to  the  service  of  sin, — become  ennobled  and  sanctified  when 
directed,  by  one  whose  constraining  motive  is  the  love  of  Chi'ist,  towards  a  good 
objoct.  Let  not  the  Christian,  then,  think  "scorn  of  the  pleasant  land."  That 
land  is  the  field  of  ancient  and  modern  literature — of  philosophy,  in  almost  all  its 
departments — of  the  arts  of  reasoning  and  persuasion.  Every  part  of  it  may  be 
cultivated  with  advantage,  as  the  Land  of  Canaan  when  bestowed  upon  God's 
peculiar  people.  They  were  not  commanded  to  let  it  lie  waste,  as  incurably  pol- 
luted by  the  abominations  of  its  first  inhabitants  ;  but  to  cultivate  it,  and  dwell  in 
it,  living  in  obedience  to  the  divine  laws,  and  dedicating  its  choicest  fruits  to  the 
Lord  their  God. 


SIR  HENRY  WOTTON. 

[Compiled  from  Creasey's  "Eminent  Etonians."] 

Eton  has  never  seen  within  her  walls  a  more  accomplished  gentle- 
man, in  the  best  sense  of  the  word,  or  a  more  judicious  ruler,  than 
fihe  received  in  1624,  when  Sir  Henry  Wotton  became  her  Provost. 
He  was  born  in  1568,  at  Bocton  Hall  in  Kent,  the  family  mansion 
of  his  father.  Sir  Robert  Wotton.  He  was  the  youngest  of  four 
sons,  and  as  such  was  destined  to  receive  but  a  moderate  income 
from  his  father ;  but  he  also  received  from  him,  what  is  far  more 
valuable  than  all  pecuniary  endowments,  an  excellent  education, 
worthy  of  the  talents  on  which  it  was  bestowed.  His  boyhood  was 
passed  at  Winchester,  and  thence  he  removed,  first,  to  New  College, 
and  subsequently  to  Queen's  College,  Oxford.  He  was  highly  dis- 
tinguished at  Oxford  for  his  proficiency  in  all  academical  studies ; 
while  he  at  the  same  time  made  himself  a  master  of  modern  lan- 
guages ;  and  he  also  displayed,  on  several  occasions,  the  elegance  of 
his  genius  in  the  lighter  departments  of  literature.  On  his  father's 
death,  in  1589,  he  left  England,  and  made  the  tour  of  France,  Italy, 
Germany,  and  the  Low  Countries ;  and  on  his  return,  in  1596,  he 
was  chosen  as  Secretary  to  Queen  Elizabeth's  favorite,  the  Earl  of 
Essex.  On  the  fall  of  Essex,  Wotton  fearing  to  be  implicated  in  the 
ruin  of  his  patron,  fled  into  France,  whence  he  again  went  to  Italy, 
and  took  up  his  abode  at  Florence.  Soon  after  his  arrival  there,  the 
Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany  having  discovered,  from  some  intercepted 
letters,  a  [ilot  to  poison  James,  King  of  Scotland,  employed  Wotton 
to  go  to  Scotland  secretly,  and  apprise  that  prince  of  liis  danger. 
Wotton  assumed  the  name  and  guise  of  an  Italian ;  executed  his 
commission  with  great  skill,  and  returned  to  Florence  after  having 
left  a  strong  impression  on  the  Scottish  King  of  his  learning,  zeal, 
and  diplomatic  ability.  On  James'  accession  to  the  English  throne, 
he  sent  for  Wotton  to  court,  gave  him  the  honor  of  knighthood, 
and  after  pronouncing  a  high  eulogiura  on  him,  declared  his  intention 
thenceforth  to  employ  him  as  an  ambassador. 

Accordingly,  during  the  greater  part  of  James'  reign,  Sir  Henry 


124 


SIR  HENRY  WOTTOX. 


represented  bis  sovereign  abroad.  His  first  mission  was  to  Venice, 
w'bere  be  formed  a  close  intimacy  witb  tbe  celebrated  Paolo  Sarpi, 
and  bad  peculiar  advantages  of  watcbing  tbe  refinements  and  devices 
of  Italian  policy  during  tbe  contest  tbat  was  tben  being  carried  on 
between  tbe  Roman  See  and  tbe  Venetians ;  in  wbicb  tbe  sagacious 
firmness  of  tbe  most  subtle  of  Aristocracies  was  pitted  against  the 
craft  and  intrigue  of  the  Vatican. 

Wotton  returned  from  Venice  in  1610,  when  be  suddenly  found 
bis  favor  at  court  unexpectedly  clouded.  This  arose  from  tbe  dis- 
covery of  a  sentence  wbicb  be  had  written  at  Augsburg,  in  his  out- 
ward journey  to  Venice.  As  we  possess  a  biography  of  Sir  Henry, 
from  tbe  pen  of  his  friend  Izaak  Walton,  it  is  best  in  this  and  other 
parts  of  Sir  Henry's  career  to  adopt  tbe  quaint  but  expressive  lan- 
guage of  the  old  king  of  tbe  anglers.     Walton  says : — 

At  his  [Sir  Henry's]  first  going  embassador  into  Italy,  as  he  passed  through 
Germany,  he  stayed  some  days  at  Augusta,  where  having  been  in  his  former 
travels  well  known  by  many  of  the  best  note  for  learning  and  ingenuousness, 
(those  that  are  esteemed  the  vcrtuosi  of  that  nation,)  with  whom  he  passing  an 
evening  in  merriment,  was  requested  by  Christopher  Flecaniore  to  write  some 
sentence  in  his  Albo,  (a  book  of  white  paper  which  for  that  purpose  many  of  the 
German  gentry  usually  carry  about  them,)-  Sir  Henry  Wotton  consenting  to  the 
motion,  took  an  occasion,  from  some  accidental  discourse  of  the  present  company, 
.o  write  a  pleasant  definition  of  an  embassador,  in  these  very  words : — 

"  Legatus  est  vir  bonus  peregre  missus  ad  mentienduin  Reipublicae  causa." 

Walton  tries  to  represent  this  as  an  unlucky  Latin  translation  of  an 
English  pun.  Walton  says  that  Sir  Henry  "could  have  been  content 
tbat  bis  Latin  could  have  been  thus  Englished : — 

"  An  ambassador  is  an  honest  man  sent  to  lie  abroad  for  the  good  of  his  country." 

But  the  word  lie  (being  the  hinge  upon  which  the  conceit  was  to  turn)  was  not 
80  expressed  in  Latin  as  would  admit  (in  the  hands  of  an  enemy  especially)  so 
fair  a  construction  as  Sir  Henry  thought  in  English.  Yet  as  it  was,  it  slept  quietly 
among  other  sentences  in  this  albo  almost  eight  years,  till  by  accident  it  fell  into 
the  hands  of  Jasper  Scioppius,  a  Romanist,  a  man  with  a  restless  spirit  and  a 
malicious  pen,  who  in  his  books  against  King  James  prints  this  as  a  principle  of 
that  religion  professed  by  the  King  and  his  Embassador,  Sir  Henry  Wotton,  then 
at  Venice ;  and  in  Venice  it  was  presently  after  written  in  several  glass  windows, 
and  spitefully  declared  to  be  Sir  Henry  Wotton's. 

This  coming  to  tlie  knowledge  of  King  James,  he  apprehended  it  to  be  such  an 
oversight,  such  a  weakness  or  worse  in  Sir  Henry  Wotton,  as  caused  the  King  to 
express  much  wrath  against  him ;  and  this  caused  Sir  Henry  Wotton  to  write  two 
apologies,  one  to  Velserus  (one  of  the  chiefs  of  Augusta)  in  the  universal  lan- 
guage, which  he  caused  to  be  printed  and  given  and  scattered  in  the  most  re- 
markable places  both  of  Germany  and  Italy,  as  an  antidote  against  the  venomous 
book  of  Scioppius  ;  and  another  apology  to  King  .James,  which  were  so  ingenious, 
so  clear,  so  choicely  eloquent,  that  his  Alajesty  (who  was  a  pure  judge  of  it)  could 
not  forbear  at  the  receipt  of  it  to  declare  publicly,  That  Sir  Henry  Wotton  had 
commuted  sufficiently  foi  a  greater  offense. 

And  now,  as  broken  bones  well  set  become  stronger,  so  Sir  Henry  Wotton  did 
not  only  recover,  but  was  much  more  confirmed  in  his  Majesty's  estimation  and 
favor  than  formerly  he  had  been. 

It   ha*  been  truly  remarked,  that  old  Izaak  must  be  mistaken  in 


SIR  IIEMIY  VVOTTON. 


125 


supposing  that  Sir  Henry  in  this  sentence  only  intended  a  poor  Eng- 
lish pun,  and  forgot  that  the  Latin  translation  failed  to  convey  his 
joke.  Wotton,  we  may  be  sure,  thought  in  Latin,  when  he  wrote 
the  words  ;  and  his  jest  was  not  without  some  sharp  earnestness. 

Indeed,  Sir  Henry's  opinion  of  the  position  of  an  ambassador  may 
be  gathered  from  another  anecdote  which  Walton  relates  of  him  : — 

A  friend  of  Sir  Henry  Wottoh's,  being  desirous  of  the  employment  of  an  am- 
bassador, came  to  Eton,  and  roquusted  from  him  some  experimental  rules  for  his 
prudent  and  safe  carriage  in  his  negotiations ;  to  whom  he  willingly  gave  this  for 
an  infallible  aphorism  : — 

''That  to  be  in  safety  to  himself  and  serviceable  to  his  country,  he  should  always 
and  on  all  occasions  speak  the  truth.  (It  seems  a  State-paradox.)  For,  says  Sir 
Henry  Wotton,  j'ou  shall  never  be  believed  ;  and  by  this  means  your  truth  will 
secure  joui'self,  if  you  shall  ever  be  called  to  any  account ;  and  'twill  also  put 
your  adversaries  (who  will  still  hunt  counter)  to  a  loss  in  all  their  disquisitions 
and  undeitakings." 

Wotton,  indeed,  seems  to  have  thought  that  all  travelers,  though 
not  diplomatists,  required  some  degree  of  Machiavellian  skill,  Mil- 
ton, when  about  to  leave  England  for  his  travels  in  France  and  Italy, 
obtained  an  introduction  to  Sir  Henry,  and  received  from  him,  among 
other  directions,  the  celebrated  precept  of  prudence — "  /  penskri 
stretti,  ed  il  viso  sciolto.^^  "The  thoughts  reserved,  but  the  counte- 
nance open." 

After  his  first  Venetian  embassage,  Wotton  was  employed  by  James 
in  missions  to  the  United  Provinces,  the  Duke  of  Savoy,  to  the  Em- 
peror, and  other  German  princes  on  the  affairs  of  the  unfortunate 
Elector  Palatine.  He  was  also  twice  again  sent  ambassador  to  Ven- 
ice ;  and  his  tinal  return  from  "  that  pleasant  country's  land  "  was  not 
till  James'  death  in  1624.  Wotton  thus  passed  nearly  twenty  years 
as  a  diplomatist  in  foreign  courts,  during  which,  as  well  as  during  his 
former  travels — 

IIoXX'Ijv  avdpw'TrcJv  l§iv  atfrsct  xai  voov  syvu. 

Wotton,  like  LTlysses,  thus  gained  deep  insight  into  the  human 
mind,  and  also  into  the  varying  manners  and  conventional  standards 
of  right  and  wrong,  which  prevail  among  dift'erent  men,  and  which 
the  Latin  poet  indicates,  when  he  translates  the  Homeric  line  by — 

"  Qui  mores  homlnum  multorum  vidit  et  urbes." 

This  knowledge  produced  in  Wotton,  not  the  misanthropy  which 
it  too  often  has  generated  in  men  of  a  less  kindly  temperament,  but 
a  charitable  spirit  in  dealing  with  each  individual  phase  of  human 
weakness,  and  a  truly  catholic  love  of  goodness  and  of  honesty, 
wherever  found,  and  by  whomsoever  displayed.  The  patience  which 
he  eminently  possessed,  was  sorely  tried  during  the  first  year  after  his 
final  return  to  England.     Large  sums  were  due  to  him  from  the  state, 


126  ^"^  HENRY  WOTTON. 

for  bis  diplomatic  expenses ;  he  had  been  forced  to  sell  his  little  pat- 
rimony ;  and  the  sordid  cares  of  daily  and  domestic  want  were  now 
pressing  bard  on  him  in  the  decline  of  life.  In  this  strait  he  received 
from  the  Crown  the  Provostship  of  Eton,  when  it  fell  vacant  in  July, 
1625.  His  feelings  on  obtaining  it  may  best  be  expressed  in  the 
language  of  Walton,  who,  doubtless,  had  often  heard  them  from  Sir 
Henry's  own  lips. 

It  pleiised  God,  that  in  this  juncture  of  time  the  Provostship  of  his  Majesty's 
College  of  Eton  became  void  by  the  death  of  Thomas  Murray,  for  which  there 
were  (as  the  place  deserved)  many  earnest  and  powerful  suitors  to  the  king.  Sir 
Henry,  who  had  for  many  years  (like  Sisiphus)  rolled  the  restless  stone  of  a  state 
employment,  and  knowing  experimentally,  that  the  great  blessing  of  sweet  con- 
tent was  not  to  be  found  in  multitudes  of  men  or  business,  and  that  a  college  was 
the  fittest  place  to  nourish  holy  thoughts,  and  to  afford  rest,  both  to  his  body  and 
mind,  which  his  age  (being  now  almost  threescore  years)  seemed  to  require ;  did 
therefore  use  his  own,  and  the  interest  of  all  his  friends,  to  procure  it.  By  which 
means,  and  quitting  the  king  of  his  promised  reversionary  offices,  and  a  piece 
of  honest  policy,  (which  I  have  not  time  to  relate,)  he  got  a  grant  of  it  from  his 
Majesty. 

Being  thus  settled  according  to  the  desires  of  his  heart,  his  first  study  was  the 
statutes  of  the  College;  by  which  he  conceived  himself  bound  to  enter  into  holy 
orders,  which  he  did  ;  being  made  deacon  with  convenient  speed.  Shortly  after, 
as  he  came  in  his  surplice  from  the  church  service,  an  old  friend,  a  person  of 
quality,  mt-t  him  so  attired,  and  joyed  him  ;  to  whom  Sir  Henry  Wotton  replied, 
"  I  thank  God  and  the  King,  by  whose  goodness  I  now  am  in  this  condition ;  a 
condition,  which  that  Emperor  Charles  the  Fifth  seemed  to  approve  :  who,  after 
so  many  remarkable  victories,  when  his  glory  was  great  in  the  eyes  of  all  men, 
freely  gave  his  crown,  and  the  cares  that  attended  it,  to  Philip  his  son,  making  a 
holy  retreat  to  a  cloisteral  life,  where  he  might  by  devout  meditations  consult  with 
God,  (which  the  rich  or  busy  men  seldom  do,)  and  have  leisure  both  to  examine 
the  errors  of  his  life  past,  and  prepare  for  that  great  day,  wherein  all  flesh  must 
make  an  account  of  their  actions.  And  after  a  kind  of  tempestuous  life,  I  now 
have  the  like  advantage  from  '  Him  that  makes  the  outgoings  of  the  morning  to 
praise  him  ;'  even  from  my  God,  who  I  daily  magnify  for  this  particular  mercy, 
of  an  exemption  from  business,  a  quiet  mind  and  a  liberal  maintenance,  even  in 
this  part  of  my  life,  wlieu  my  age  and  infirmities  seem  to  sound  me  a  retreat  from 
the  pleasures  of  this  world,  and  invite  me  to  contemplation  ;  in  which  I  have  ever 
taken  the  greatest  felicity." 

And  now  to  speak  a  little  of  the  employment  of  his  times.  After  his  custom- 
ary public  devotions,  his  use  was  to  retire  into  his  study,  and  there  to  spend  some 
hours  in  reading  the  Bible,  and  authors  in  divinity,  closing  up  his  meditations 
with  private  prayer ;  this  was.  for  the  most  part,  his  employment  in  the  forenoon. 
But  when  he  was  once  sat  to  dinner,  then  nothing  but  cheerful  thoughts  possessed 
liis  mind ;  and  those  still  increased  by  constant  company  at  his  table,  of  such  per- 
sons as  brought  thither  additions  both  of  learning  and  pleasure.  But  some  part 
of  most  days  was  usually  spent  in  philosophical  conclusions.  Nor  did  he  forget 
his  innate  |)leasure  of  anglmg;  which  he  would  usually  call  his  idle  time,  not  idly 
spent :  saying,  he  would  rather  live  five  May  months,  than  forty  Decembers. 

A  common  love  of  angling  created  and  cemented  the  friendship 
between  Sir  Henry  Wotton  and  Izaak  Walton.  We  owe  to  it  the 
exquisite  biography  which  Walton  wrote  of  his  friend,  and  the  col- 
lection of  Sir  Henry's  works,  which  AValton  edited  after  Wotton's 
death.  The  spot  where  the  two  friends  loved  to  practice  the  patient 
art  of  the  rod  and  line  is  well  known,  and  deservedly  honored. 
About  a  quarter  of  a  mile  below  the  college,  at  one  of  the  most  pic- 


SIR  HENRY  WOTTON.  J27 

turesque  bends  of  the  river,  there  is,  or  was,  an  ancient  eel  fishery, 
called  Black  Pots. 

One  of  the  most  exquisite  passages  in  Walton's  book  on  angling 
is  devoted  to  the  just  praises  of  Sir  Henry  Wotton,  and  incorporates 
some  poetry  of  the  good  Provost,  which  we  may  well  believe  to  have 
been  composed  at  Black  Pots,  and  which  also  merits  quotation  for  its 
beauty. 

My  next  and  last  example  shall  be  that  undervaluer  of  money,  the  late  Provost 
of  Eton  College,  Sir  Henry  Wotton,  a  man  with  whom  I  have  often  fished  and 
conversed,  a  man  whose  foreign  employments  in  the  service  of  this  nation,  and 
whose  experience,  learning,  wit,  and  cheerfulness  made  his  company  to  be  es- 
teemed one  of  the  delights  of  mankind :  this  man,  whose  very  approbation  of 
angling  were  sufficient  to  convince  any  modest  censurer  of  it,  this  man  was  also 
a  most  dear  lover  and  frequent  practioer  of  the  art  of  angling ;  of  which  he  would 
say,  "  'Twas  an  employment  for  his  idle  time,  which  was  then  not  idly  spent :  for 
angling  was  after  a  tedious  study  a  rest  to  his  mind,  a  cheerer  of  his  spirits,  a 
diverter  of  sadness,  a  calmer  of  unquiet  thoughts,  a  moderator  of  passions,  a  pro- 
curer of  oontentedness;"  and  that  it  "begat  habits  of  peace  and  patience  in  those 
that  professed  and  practiced  it."  Indeed,  my  friend,  you  will  find  angling  to  be 
like  the  virtue  of  humility,  which  has  a  calmness  of  spirit,  and  a  world  of  other 
blessings  attending  upon  it. 

Sir,  this  was  the  saying  of  that  learned  man,  and  I  do  easily  believe  that  peace 
and  patience  and  a  calm  content  did  cohabit  in  the  cheerful  heart  of  Sir  Henry 
Wotton  ;  because  I  know  that  when  he  was  beyond  seventy  years  of  age  he  made 
this  description  of  a  part  of  the  present  pleasure  that  possessed  him,  as  he  sat 
quietly  in  a  summer's  evening  on  a  bank  a-fishing;  it  is  a  description  of  the  spring, 
which,  because  it  glided  as  soft  and  sweetly  from  his  pen,  as  that  river  does  at 
this  time,  by  which  it  was  then  made,  I  shall  repeat  unto  you. 

ON  A  BANK  AS  I  SATE  A-FISHING. 

A   DESCRIPTION   OP   THE   SPRINS.  ^ 

And  now  all  Nature  seemed  in  love, 
The  lusty  sap  began  to  move ; 
New  juice  did  stir  th'  embracin/j  vines, 
And  birds  had  drawn  their  valentines. 
The  jealous  trout,  that  low  did  lie, 
Rose  at  a  well  dissembled  fly. 
There  stood  my  friend,  with  patient  skill, 
Attending  of  his  trembling  quill. 
Already  were  the  eaves  possessed 
With  the  swift  pilgrim's  daubed  nest. 
The  groves  already  did  rejoice 
In  Philomel's  triumphing  voice. 

The  showers  were  short ;  the  weather  mild  ; 
The  morning  fresh,  the  evening  smiled. 
***** 

The  fields  and  gardens  were  beset 
With  tulip,  crocus,  violet ; 
And  now,  though  late,  the  modest  rose 
Did  more  than  half  a  blush  disclose. 
Thus  all  looked  gay,  all  full  of  cheer, 
To  welcome  the  new  liveried  year. 

These  were  the  thoughts  that  then  possessed  the  undisturbed  mind  of  Sir 
Henry  Wotton. 

Eton  received  great  beneBt  from  the  zeal  with  which  Sir  Henry 
devoted  himself  to  the  improvement  of  the  school ;  and  from  the 
sound  sense  and  kindly  spirit  with  which  that  zeal  was  accompanied. 
Boyle,  in  his  autobiographical  fragment,  when  he  describes  his  own 
early  education,  speaks  with  praise  and  fondness  of  Wotton.     He 


128  SIR  HENRY  WOTTON. 

says  that  Sir  Ilenry  was  not  only  a  fine  gentleman  himself,  but  skilled 
in  making  others  so,  and  he  expressly  mentions  that  the  school  was 
then  very  much  thronged  with  the  young  nobility  of  the  land.  Wal- 
ton thus  farther  describes  Sir  Henry's  life  as  Provost : — 

lie  was  a  great  lover  of  his  neighbors,  and  a  bountiful  entertainer  of  them  very 
often  at  his  table,  where  his  meat  was  choice,  and  his  discourse  better.  He  was 
a  constant  eherisher  of  all  those  youths  in  that  school,  in  whom  he  found  cither  a 
const^int  diligence,  or  a  genius  that  prompted  them  to  learning  ;  for  whose  eflcour- 
agemotit  he  was  (besides  many  other  things  of  necessity  and  beauty)  at  the  charge 
of  setting  up  in  it  two  rows  of  pillars,  on  which  he  caused  to  be  choicely  drawn, 
the  pictures  of  divers  of  the  most  famous  Greek  and  Latin  historians,  poets,  and 
orators ;  persuading  them  not  to  neglect  rhetoric,  because  Almighty  God  has  left 
mankind  affections  to  be  wrought  upon:  And  he  would  often  say,  That  none  des- 
pised eloquence,  but  such  dull  souls  as  were  not  capable  of  it.  He  would  also 
often  make  choice  of  observations,  out  of  those  historians  and  poets:  but  he 
would  never  leave  the  school  without  dropping  some  choice  Greek  or  Latin  apo- 
thegm or  sentence ;  such  as  were  worthy  of  a  room  in  the  memory  of  a  growing 
scholar.  He  was  pleased  constantly  to  breed  up  one  or  more  hopeful  youths, 
which  he  picked  out  of  the  school,  and  took  into  his  own  domestic  care,  and  to 
attend  him  at  his  meals ;  out  of  whose  discourse  and  behavim-,  he  gathered  ob- 
servations for  the  better  completing  of  his  intended  work  of  education  ;  of  which, 
by  his  still  striving  to  make  the  whole  better,  he  lived  to  leave  but  part  to  pos- 
terity. He  was  a  great  enemy  to  wrangling  disputes  on  religion  :  concerning 
which  I  shall  say  a  little,  both  to  testify  that,  and  to  show  the  readiness  of  his  wit. 
Having  in  Rome  made  acquaintance  with  a  pleasant  priest,  who  invited  him  one 
evening  to  hear  their  vesper  music  at  church,  the  priest  seeing  Sir  Henry  stand 
obscurely  in  a  corn«;r,  sends  to  him  by  a  boy  of  the  choir  this  question  writ  in  a 
small  piece  of  paper  :  Where  was  your  religion  to  be  found  before  Luther  ?  To 
which  question  Sir  Henry  Wotton  presently  under-writ :  My  religion  was  to  be 
found  then,  where  yours  is  not  to  be  found  now,  in  the  written  Word  of  God. 
To  another  that  asked  him.  Whether  a  Papist  may  be  saved  ?  he  replied.  You 
•may  be  saved  without  knowing  that.  Look  to  yourself.  To  another,  whose 
earnestness  exceeded  his  knowledge,  and  was  still  railing  against  the  Papists,  he 
gave  this  advice  :  Pray,  Sir,  forbear  till  you  have  studied  the  points  better  ;  for 
the  wise  Italians  have  a  proverb — He  that  understands  amiss,  concludes  worse  ; 
and  take  heed  of  thinking,  the  farther  you  go  from  the  Church  of  Rome,  the 
nearer  you  are  to  God. 

Sir  Henry's  own  letter  to  King  Charles,  in  which  he  explains 
the  motives  through  which  he  took  holy  orders,  is  preserved  in  the 
collection  of  his  works,  and  it  were  injustice  to  his  memory  not  to 
cite  it : — 

My  most  dear  and  dread  Sovereign, — 

As  I  gave  your  Majesty  foreknowledge  of  my  intention  to  enter  into  the  Church, 
and  had  your  gracious  approvement  therein,  so  I  hold  it  a  sacred  duty  to  your 
Majesty,  and  satisfaction  to  myself,  to  inform  you  likewise  by  mine  own  hand, 
both  how  far  I  have  proceeded  and  upon  what  motives ;  that  it  may  appear  unto 
your  Miijesty  (as  I  hope  it  will)  an  act  of  conscience  and  of  reason,  and  not  greed- 
iness and  ambition.  Your  Majesty  will  be  therefore  pleased  to  know  that  I  have 
lately  taken  the  degree  of  Deacon  ;  and  so  far  am  I  from  aiming  at  any  higher 
flight  out  of  my  former  sphere,  that  there  I  intend  to  rest.  Perhaps  I  want  not 
Bome  persuaders,  who,  measuring  me  by  their  affections,  or  by  your  Majesty's 
goodness,  and  not  by  mine  own  defects  or  ends,  would  make  me  think  that  yet 
before  I  do  die  I  might  become  a  great  prelate.  And  I  need  no  persuasion  to  tell 
me,  that  if  I  would  undertake  the  pastor  function,  I  could  peradventure  by  casu- 
alty, out  of  the  patronages  l)tlonging  to  your  Royal  College,  without  further 
troubling  of  your  Majesty,  cast  some  good  benefice  upon  myself,  whereof  we  have 


SIR  HENRY  WOTTON.  129 

one,  if  it  were  vacant,  that  is  worth  more  than  my  Provostship.  But  as  tbey 
were  etrucken  with  horror  who  beheld  the  majesty  of  the  Lord  descending  upon 
the  Mount  Sinai,  so,  God  knows,  the  nearer  I  approach  to  contemplate  His  great- 
ness, the  more  I  tremble  to  assume  any  cure  of  souls  even  iu  the  lowest  degree, 
that  were  bought  at  so  high  a  price.  Premant  torcular  qui  vindemiarunt.  Let 
them  press  the  grapes,  and  fill  the  vessels,  and  taste  the  wine,  that  have  gathered 
the  vintage.  But  shall  I  sit  and  do  nothing  in  the  porch  of  Grod's  house,  wherc- 
unto  I  am  entered  ?  God  himself  forbid,  who  was  the  supreme  mover.  What 
service,  then,  do  I  propound  to  the  Church  ?  or  what  contentment  to  my  own 
mind  ?  First,  for  the  point  of  conscience,  I  can  now  hold  my  place  canonically, 
which  I  held  before  but  dispeusatively,  and  withal  I  can  exercise  an  archidiaconal 
authority  annexed  thereunto,  though  of  small  extent,  and  no  benefit,  yet  some- 
times of  pious  and  necessary  use.  I  comfort  myself  also  with  this  Christian  hope, 
that  gentlemen  and  knights'  sons,  who  are  trained  up  with  us  in  a  seminary  of 
Churchmen,  (which  was  the  will  of  the  holy  Founder,)  will  by  my  example  (with- 
out vanity  be  it  spoken)  not  be  ashamed,  after  the  sight  of  courtly  weeds,  to  put 
on  a  surplice.  Lastly,  I  consider  that  this  resolution  which  I  have  taken  is  not 
unsuitable  even  to  my  civil  employments  abroad,  of  which  for  the  most  part  reli- 
gion was  the  subject ;  nor  to  my  observations,  which  have  been  spent  that  way  in 
discovery  of  the  Roman  arts  and  mactices,  whereof  I  hope  to  yield  the  world 
some  account,  though  rather  bj  my  pen  than  by  my  voice.  For  though  I  must 
humbly  confess  that  both  my  conceptions  and  expressions  be  weak,  yet  I  do  more 
trust  my  delibi-ration  than  my  memory :  or  if  your  Majesty  will  give  me  leave  to 
paint  myself  in  higher  terms,  I  think  I  shall  be  bolder  against  the  faces  of  men. 
This  I  conceived  to  be  a  piece  of  my  own  character ;  so  as  my  private  study  must 
be  my  theater,  rather  than  a  pulpit ;  and  my  books  my  auditors,  as  tlsey  are  all 
my  treasure.  Howsoever,  if  I  can  produce  nothing  else  for  the  use  of  Church 
and  State,  yet  it  shall  be  comfort  enough  to  the  little  remnant  of  my  life,  to  com- 
pose some  hymns  unto  His  endless  glory,  who  hath  called  me,  (for  which  His 
Name  be  ever  blessed,)  though  latj  to  His  service,  yet  early  to  the  knowledge 
of  His  truth  and  sense  of  His  mercy.  To  which  ever  commending  your  Majesty 
and  your  royal  action  with  most  hearty  and  humble  prayers,  I  rest, 

Your  Majesty's  most  devoted  poor  servant. 

Sir  Henry  passed  fifteen  honorable,  useful,  and  happj'  years  as 
Provost  of  Eton.  He  designed  several  literary  works,  among  which 
was  a  life  of  Luther,  which,  at  the  King's  request,  he  laid  aside  in 
order  to  commence  a  history  of  England ;  but  he  made  but  little 
progress  in  this  last-mentioned  work.  He  also  wrote  some  portions 
of  an  intended  treatise  on  Education,  which  he  styled  Moral  Archi- 
tecture, to  distinguish  it  from  a  former  treatise,  published  by  him,  on 
Architecture,  which  was  justly  celebrated  for  the  soundness  of  its 
principles  and  the  grace  of  its  style. 

Sir  Henry  Wotton  died  on  the  fifth  of  December,  1639.  He  was 
never  married.  He  was  buried  according  to  his  desire,  in  the  Chapel 
of  the  College,  and  on  his  monument  was  placed,  as  directed  by  him 
in  his  last  will,  the  following  inscription  : — 

Hie  jacet  hujus  senteniicz  primus  Auclor : 

DISPUTANDI   PRURITUS  ECCLESIARUM  SCABIES. 

Nbmen  alias  qucere. 

Which  may  be  rendered  as  follows : 

Here  lies  the  first  Author  of  this  sentence : 
THK  ITCH  OF  DISPUTATION   WILL  PROVE  THE  SCAB  OP  THB   CHUBOH. 

Inquire  his  name  elsewhere. 
9 


A  PHILOSOPHICAL  SURVEY  OF  EDUCATION: 

OR,    MOUAL  ARCHITECTURE.* 

BT   SIR  HENRY  WOTTON. 


THE    EPISTLE    DEDICATORY    TO    THE    KING. 

May  it  please  your  Majesty — I  need  no  other  motive  to  dedicate  this  discourse, 
which  followeth,  unto  your  Majosty,  than  the  very  subject  itself,  so  properly  per- 
taining to  your  sovereign  goodness :  for  thereby  you  are  Pater  Patria.  And  it 
is  none  of  the  least  attributes  wherewith  God  hath  blessed  both  your  royal  person 
and  your  people,  that  you  are  so.  On  the  other  side,  for  mine  own  undertaking 
thereof,  I  had  need  say  more.  I  am  old  and  childless ;  and  thougli  I  were  a 
father  of  many,  I  could  leave  them  nothing,  either  in  fortune  or  in  example.  But 
having  long  since  put  forth  a  slight  pamphlet  about  the  Elements  of  Architecture, 
which  yet  hath  been  entertained  with  some  pardon  among  my  friends,  I  was 
encouraged,  even  at  this  age,  to  essay  how  I  could  build  a  Man ;  for  there  is  a 
moral,  as  well  as  a  natural  or  artificial  compilemcnt,  and  of  better  materials : 
which  truly  I  have  cemented  together  rather  in  the  plain  Tuscan  (as  our  Vitru- 
vius  ternieth  it)  than  in  the  Corinthian  form.  Howsoever,  if  your  Majesty  be 
graciously  pleased  to  approve  any  part  of  it,  who  are  so  excellent  a  judge  in  all 
kind  of  structure,  I  shall  much  glory  in  mine  own  endeavor.  If  otherwise,  I 
will  be  one  of  the  first  myself  that  shall  pull  it  in  pieces,  and  condemn  it  to  rub- 
bage  and  ruin.  And  so,  wishing  your  Majesty  (as  to  the  best  of  kings)  a  longer 
life  than  any  of  the  soundest  works  of  nature  or  art,  I  ever  I'est, 

Your  Majesty's  most  devoted  poor  subject  and  servant, 

II.  WOTTON. 


A    SURVEY    OK    EDUCATION. 

This  Treatise  (well  may  it  now  proceed)  having  since  the  first  conception 
thereof,  been  often  traversed  with  other  thoughts — yea,  and  sometimes  utterly 
forsaken — I  have  of  late  resumed  again,  out  of  hope  (the  common  flatterer)  to 
find  at  least  some  indulgent  interpretation  of  my  pains;  especially  in  an  lionest 
,  endeavor  of  such  public  consequence  as  this  is  above  all  other.  For  if  any  shall 
think  Education  (because  it  is  conversant  about  children)  to  be  but  a  private  and 
domestic  duty,  he  will  run  some  danger,  in  my  opinion,  to  have  been  ignorantly 
bred  himself.  Certain  it  is,  that  anciently  the  best  composed  estates  did  commit 
this  care  more  to  the  magistrate  than  to  the  parent ;  and  certain  likewise,  that  the 
best  authors  liave  chosen  rather  to  handle  it  in  their  politics,  than  in  their  eco- 
nomics. As  both  writers  and  rulers  well  knowing  what  a  stream  and  influence 
it  hath  into  government.     So  great  indeed,  and  so  diffusive,  that  albeit  good  laws 

•  Reprinted  from  the  Third  Edition  of  Reliquia,  WottoniancE.    London,  lo72. 


132  SIR  HENRY  WOTTOJH. 

h.ive  been  reputed  always  the  nerves  or  ligaments  of  liuman  society,  yet  arc  they 
(be  it  spoken  with  the  peace  of  those  grave  professors)  no  way  comparable  in 
their  effects  to  the  rules  of  good  nurture ;  for  it  is  in  civil,  as  it  is  in  natural 
plantations,  where  young  tender  trees  (though  subject  to  the  injuries  of  air,  and  in 
danger  even  of  their  own  flexibility)  would  yet  little  want  any  after-underprop- 
pings  and  shearings,  if  they  were  at  first  well  fastened  in  the  root. 

Now  my  present  labor  will  (as  I  foresee)  consist  of  these  pieces : 

First,  There  must  proceed  a  way  how  to  discern  the  natural  capacities  and 
hiclinntions  of  children. 

Secondly,  Next  must  ensue  the  culture  and  funiishment  of  the  mind. 

Thirdly,  The  moulding  of  behavior,  and  decent  forms. 

Fourthly,  The  tempering  of  affections. 

Fifthly,  The  quickening  and  e.\citing  of  observations  and  practical  j  udgment. 

Sixthly,  and  the  last  in  order,  but  the  principal  in  value,  being  that  which 
must  knit  and  consolidate  all  the  rest,  is  the  timely  instilling  of  conscientious 
principles  and  seeds  of  religion. 

These  six  branches  will,  as  I  conceive,  embrace  the  whole  business;  through 
which  I  shall  run  in  as  many  several  chapters  or  sections.  But  before  I  launch 
from  the  shores,  let  me  resolve  a  main  question  which  may  be  cast  in  my  way  : 
whether  there  be  indeed  such  an  infallible  efficacy,  as  I  suppose,  in  the  care  of 
nurture  and  first  production  ;  for  if  that  supposal  should  fail  us,  all  our  anchorage 
were  loose,  and  we  should  but  wander  in  a  wide  sea. 

Plutarch^  I  remember  to  the  same  purpose,  in  the  first  of  his  Tractates,  which 
place  this  subject  well  deserved,  endeavoreth  by  sundry  similitudes,  wherein  that 
man  had  a  prompt  and  luxurious  fancy,  to  show  us  the  force  of  Education ;  all 
which,  in  sooth,  might  have  been  well  forborne,  had  be  but  known  what  our  own 
countrymen  have  of  late  time  disclosed  among  their  magnetical  experiments. 
There  they  tell  us,  that  a  rod  or  bar  of  iron  having  stood  long  in  a  window,  or 
elsewhere,  be'rg  thence  taken,  and  by  the  help  of  a  cork  or  the  like  thing  being 
balanced  in  water,  or  in  any  other  liquid  substance  where  it  may  have  a  free 
mobility,  will  bewray  a  kind  of  unquietude  and  discontentment  till  it  attain  the 
former  position.  Now  it  is  pretty  to  note,  how  in  this  natural  theorem  is  involved 
a  moral  conclusion  of  direct  moment  to  the  point  we  have  in  hand. 

For  if  such  an  uupliant  and  stubborn  mineral  as  iron  is  above  any  other,  will 
acquire  by  mere  continuance  a  secret  appetite,  and  (as  I  may  term  it)  an  habitual 
inclination  to  the  site  it  held  before,  then  how  much  more  may  we  hope,  through 
the  very  same  means,  (education  being  nothing  else  but  a  constant  plight  and 
tnurc»nr7!<,)  to  induce  by  custom  good  habits  into  a  reasonable  creature?  And 
■o,  having  a  little  smoothed  my  passage,  I  may  now  go  on  to  the  chapters. 

1.    TOUCniNG    THE    SEARCH    OF    NATURAL    CAPACITIES    AND    INCLINATIONS. 

Of  the  two  things  propounded  in  this  chapter,  I  must  begin  with  capacities  : 
for  the  manurement  of  wits  is  like  that  of  soils,  where  before  either  the  pains  of 
tillirig,  or  the  charge  of  sowing,  men  use  to  consider  what  the  mould  will  bear, 
heath  or  grain.  Now  this,  peradventure  at  the  first  view,  may  seem  in  children 
a  very  slight  and  obvious  inquiry  ;  that  age  being  so  open  and  so  free,  and  yet 
void  of  all  art  to  disguise  or  dissemble  either  their  appetites  or  their  defects.  Not- 
wiUisLanding,  we  see  it  every  day  and  every  where  subject  to  much  error;  partly 
by  a  very  pardonable  facility  in  the  parents  themselves,  to  over-prize  their  own 


SIR  HENRY  WOTTON.  ^33 

children,  while  they  behold  them  through  the  vapors  of  affection,  which  alter 
the  appearance,  as  all  things  seem  bigger  in  misty  mornings.  Nay,  even  stran- 
gers, and  the  most  disinterested  persons,  are  yet,  I  know  not  how,  commonly 
inclined  to  a  favorable  conceit  of  little  ones  ;  so  cheap  a  thing  it  is  to  bestow  noth- 
ing but  hope.  There  is  likewise  on  the  other  side,  as  often  failing  by  an  under- 
valuation ;  for,  in  divers  children,  their  ingenerate  and  seminal  powers  (as  I  may 
term  them)  lie  deep,  and  are  of  slow  disclosure ;  no  otherwise  than  in  certain 
vegetables,  which  are  long  before  they  shoot  up  and  appear,  and  yet  afterwards 
both  of  good  and  great  increase ;  which  may  serve  to  e.vcite  care,  and  to  prevent 
despair  in  parents  :  for  if  their  child  be  not  such  a  speedy  spreader  and  brancher, 
like  the  vine,  yet  perchance  he  may  prove  proles  tarde  crescentis  olivee,  and 
yield,  though  with  a  little  longer  expectation,  as  useful  and  more  sober  fruit  than 
the  other.  And,  I  must  confess,  I  take  some  delight  in  these  kind  of  compari- 
Bons ;  remembering  well  what  I  have  often  heard  my  truly  noble  and  most  dear 
nephew.  Sir  Edmund  Bacon,  say,  out  of  his  exquisite  contemplations  and  philo- 
sophical practice  :  that  Nature  surely  (if  she  be  well  studied)  is  the  best  moralist, 
and  hath  much  good  counsel  hidden  in  her  bosom. 

Now  here  then  will  lie  the  whole  business,  to  set  down  beforehand  certain 
signatures  of  hopefulness,  or  characters,  (as  I  will  rather  call  them,  because  that 
word  hath  gotten  already  some  entertainment  among  us,)  whereby  may  be  timely 
descried  what  the  child  will  prove  in  probability.  These  characters  must  neces- 
sarily be  either  impressed  in  the  outward  person,  like  stamps  of  nature,  or  must 
otherwise  be  taken  from  some  emergent  act  of  his  mind  ;  wherein  of  the  former 
sort: 

The  first  is  that  which  first  incurreth  into  sight ;  namely,  the  child's  color  or 
complexion,  (as  we  vulgarly  term  it,)  and  thence  perchance  some  judgment  of 
the  predominant  humor. 

The  next  is  the  structure  and  conformation  of  the  limbs. 

And  the  third  is  a  certain  spirituous  resultance  from  the  other  two,  which 
makes  the  countenance. 

The  second  kind  of  these  character)*  (which  are  rather  mental  than  personal) 
be  of  such  variety  (because  minds  are  more  active  than  bodies)  that  I  purpose,  for 
the  plainest  delivery,  to  resolve  all  my  gatherings  touching  both  kinds  into  a  rhap- 
sody of  several  observations ;  for  I  dare  not  give  them  the  authoritative  title  of 
aphorisms,  which  yet,  when  I  shall  have  mustered  them,  if  their  own  strength 
be  considei'ed  rather  in  troop  than  singly,  as  they  say,  by  pole,  may  poi  chance 
make  a  reasonable  moral  prognostic. 

The  Observations. 

There  are  in  the  course  of  human  life,  from  our  cradles  upward,  certain  periods 
or  degrees  of  change,  commonly  (as  the  ancients  have  noted)  every  seven  years, 
whereof  the  two  first  septenaries,  and  half  of  the  third,  or  thereabouts,  I  will 
call  the  obsequious  age,  apt  to  imbibe  all  manner  of  im[)ressions  ;  which  time  of 
the  suppleness  of  obedience  is  to  be  plied  by  parents,  before  the  stiffness  of  will 
come  on  too  fast. 

There  is  no  complexion,  or  composition  in  children,  cither  privileged  from  bad 
proof,  or  prejudiced  from  good.  Always  I  except  prodigious  forms,  and  mere 
natural  impotencies,  which  are  unmanageable  in  toto  genere,  and  no  more  to  bo 
cultivated  than  the  sands  of  Arabia. 


134  SIR  HENRY  WOTTON. 

More  ordinary  imperfections  and  distortions  of  the  body  in  figure,  are  30  fa? 
from  excluding  all  hope,  that  we  usually  see  them  attended  with  some  notable 
compensation  one  way  or  other,  whereof  our  own  time  hath  produced  with  us  no 
slight  example  in  a  great  minister  of  state,  and  many  other. 

I  am  yet  willing  to  grant,  that  generally  in  nature  the  best  outward  shapes  are 
also  the  likeliest  to  be  consociated  with  good  inward /aci//tjes  /  for  this  conclusion 
hath  somewhat  from  the  Divine  Light :  since  God  himself  made  this  great 
world  (whereof  man  is  the  little  model)  of  such  harmonious  beauty  in  all  the 
parts,  to  be  the  receptacle  of  his  perfectcst  creature. 

Touching  such  conjectures  as  depend  on  the  complexions  of  children  :  albeit  I 
make  no  question  but  all  kinds  of  wits  and  capacities  may  be  found  under  all 
tinctures  und  integuments ;  yet  I  will  particularly  describe  one  or  two  with  some 
preference,  though  without  prejudice  of  the  rest. 

The  first  shall  be  a  palish  clearness,  evenly  and  smoothly  spread,  not  over-thin 
and  washy,  but  of  a  pretty  solid  consistence  ;  from  which  equal  distribution  of  the 
phlegmatic  humor,  which  is  the  proper  allay  of  fervent  blood,  I  am  wont  to  hope 
(where  I  see  it)  will  flow  a  future  quietude  and  sercnitude  in  the  affections,  and  a 
discreet  sweetness  and  moderation  in  the  manners ;  not  so  quick  perchance  of 
conceit,  as  slow  to  passion,  and  commonly  less  inventive  than  judicious ;  howso- 
ever, for  the  most  part,  proving  very  plausible,  insinuant,  and  fortunate  men. 

The  other  is,  the  pure  sanguine  melancholic  tincture,  wherein  I  would  wish 
five  parts  of  the  first  to  three  of  the  second ;  that  so  there  may  be  the  greater 
portion  of  that  which  must  illuminate  and  enrich  the  fancy,  and  yet  no  scant  of 
the  other,  to  fix  and  determine  the  judgment;  for  surely  the  right  natural  defini- 
tion of  a  wise  habit  is  nothing  else  but  a  plentifulness  and  promptness  in  the  store- 
house of  the  mind,  of  clear  imaginations  well  fixed. 

Morcilitts  Ficinus  (the  deep  Florentine  Platonic)  increaseth  these  proportions, 
requiring  eight  to  two  in  the  foresaid  humors,  and  withal  adding  two  more  of  pure 
oholer.  ]}ut  of  that  I  shall  speak  more  among  the  inward  motions,  purposely 
here  foibcaring  it,  where  I  only  contemplate  the  superficial  appearance. 

In  the  outward  frame  and  fabric  of  the  body,  which  is  the  next  object  after 
complexion,  an  erect  and  forward  stature,  a  large  breast,  neat  and  pliant  joints, 
and  the  like,  may  be  good  significants  of  health,  of  strength,  or  agility,  but  are 
very  foreign  arguments  of  wit.  I  will  therefore  only  say  somewhat  of  tlie  fiead 
and  eye,  as  far  as  may  conduce  to  my  present  scope. 

The  head  in  a  child  I  wish  great  and  round,  which  is  the  capablest  figure,  and 
the  freest  from  all  restraint  and  compressiim  of  the  parts ;  for  since  in  the  section 
of  bodies  we  find  man,  of  all  sensible  creatures,  to  have  the  fullest  brain  to  his 
proportion,  and  that  it  was  so  provided  by  the  Supreme  Wisdom,  for  the  lodging 
of  the  intellective  faculties,  it  must  needs  be  a  silent  character  of  hope,  when,  in 
the  economical  providence  of  nature,  (as  I  may  term  it,)  there  is  good  store  of 
roomage  and  receipt  where  those  powers  are  stowed :  as  commonly  we  may 
think  husbanding  men  to  foresee  their  own  plenty,  who  prepare  beforehand  large 
barns  and  granaries.  Yet  Thucydides  (anciently  one  of  the  excellentest  wits  in 
the  learnedst  part  of  the  world)  seems  (if  Marcellinus  in  his  i\k  have  well 
described  him)  to  have  been  somewhat  taper-headed,  as  many  of  the  Genoesers 
are  at  this  day  in  common  observation,  who  yet  be  a  people  of  singular  sagacity : 
yea,  I  call  not  impertinently  to  mind,  that  one  of  my  time  in  Venice  had  wit 
enough  to  become  the  civil  head  of  that  grave  republic,  who  yet  for  the  littleness 


SIR  HENRY  WOTTON.  J35 

of  his  own  natural  liead  was  surnamed  //  Donaio  Testolina.  But  the  obtrusion 
of  such  particular  instances  as  these  are  unsufficient  to  disauthori2e  a  note  grounded 
upon  the  final  intervention  of  nature. 

The  eye  in  children  (which  commonly  let  them  roll  at  pleasure)  is  of  curious 
observation,  especially  in  point  of  discovery;  for  it  loveth,  or  hateth,  before  we 
can  discern  the  heart;  it  consenteth,  or  denieth,  before  the  tongue;  it  resolveth, 
or  runneth  away,  before  the  feet:  nay,  we  shall  often  mark  in  it  a  dullness,  or 
apprehensiveness,  even  before  the  understanding.  In  short,  it  betrayeth  in  a 
manner  the  whole  state  of  the  mind,  and  letteth  out  all  our  fancies  and  passions 
as  it  were  by  a  window.  I  shall  therefore  require  in  that  organ,  without  poetical 
conceits,  (as  far  as  may  concern  my  purpose,  be  the  color  what  it  will,)  only  a 
settled  vivacity,  not  wandering,  nor  stupid ;  yet,  I  must  confess,  I  have  known  a 
number  of  dull-sighted,  very  sharp-witted  men. 

The  truth  is,  that  if  in  these  external  marks,  or  signatures,  there  be  any  cer 
tainty,  it  must  be  taken  from  that  which  I  have  formerly  called  the  total  result  ■ 
ance  :  by  which,  what  I  mean,  I  shall  more  properly  explain  in  the  third  section, 
when  I  come  to  handle  the  general  air  of  the  person  and  carnage.  I  will  now 
hasten  to  those  more  solid  and  conclusive  characters,  which,  as  I  have  said,  are 
emergent  from  the  mind,  and  which  oftentimes  do  start  out  of  children  when 
themselves  least  think  of  it ;  for,  let  me  tell  you,  nature  is  proditorious. 

And  fkst  I  must  begin  with  a  strange  note :  that  a  child  will  have  tantum 
ingenii  quantum  tree;  that  is,  in  my  construction,  as  much  wit  as  he  hath  way- 
wardness. This  rule  we  have  cited  by  a  very  learned  man,*  somewhere  out  of 
Seneca,  and  exemplified  by  Angelus  Politianus,  (none  of  the  meanest  critics,) 
who,  writing  the  life  of  Pietro  de  Medici,  concludeth,  that  he  was  likely  to  prove 
a  wise  man,  because  he  was  a  froward  boy.  Truly  I  have  been  many  times 
tempted  to  wonder,  notwithstanding  the  value  of  these  authors,  how  so  disordi- 
nate  a  passion,  seated  in  the  heart  and  boiling  in  the  blood,  could  betoken  a  good 
constitution  of  the  brain,  which,  above  any  other,  is,  or  should  be,  the  coldest 
part.  But  because  all  sudden  motions  must  necessarily  imply  a  quick  apprehen- 
sion of  the  first  stirring  cause,  and  that  the  dullest  of  other  creatures  are  the 
latest  ofTended,  I  am  content  for  the  present  to  yield  it  some  credit. 

We  have  another,  somewhat  of  the  same  mould,  from  Quintilian,  (whom  I 
have  ever  thought,  since  any  use  of  my  poor  judgment,  both  the  elegantest  and 
soundest  of  all  the  Roman  pens,)  that  a  child  will  have  tantum  ingenii  quantum 
memoricB.  This,  I  must  confess,  will  bear  a  stronger  consequence  of  hope ;  for 
memory  is  not  only  considerable  as  it  is  in  itself  a  good  retention,  but  likewise  as 
it  is  an  infallible  argument  of  good  attention — a  point  of  no  small  value  in  that 
age  which  a  fair  orange  or  a  red  apple  will  divert. 

There  is  yot  another  in  the  same  writer,  and  in  the  same  place,  where  he 
liandk'th  this  very  theme — How  to  descry  capacities :  that  parents  should  mark 
whether  their  children  be  naturally  apt  to  imitate;  wherewith  certainly  all  fine 
fancies  are  caught,  and  some  little  less  than  ravished.  And  wo  have  a  tradition 
of  Quintilian  himself,  that  when  he  saw  any  well-expressed  image  of  grief,  either 
in  picture  or  sculpture,  he  would  usually  weep ;  for,  being  a  teacher  of  oratory 
in  school,  he  was  perhaps  aflfected  with  a  passionate  piece  of  art,  as  with  a  kind 
of  mute  eloquence.  True  it  is  indeed,  which  a  great  masterf  hath  long  before 
taught  us,  that  man  is  of  all  creatures  the  most  mimical,  as  a  kind  of  near  adjunct 

•  Capnio.  t  Aristotle  in  Rhetoricis. 


136  SIR  HENRY  WOTrON. 

to  reason,  arguing  necessarily  in  those  that  can  do  it  well,  whether  it  be  in  ges- 
tures, in  styles,  in  speech,  in  fashion,  in  accents,  or  howsoever,  no  shallow  im- 
pression of  similitudes  and  differences ;  about  which,  in  effect,  is  conversant  the 
whole  wisdom  of  the  world. 

Besides  these,  I  would  wish  parents  to  mark  heedfully  the  witty  excuses  of 
their  children,  especially  at  suddens  and  surprisals ;  but  rather  to  mark  than 
pamper  them,  for  that  were  otherwise  to  cherish  untruth  :  whereof  I  shall  speak 
more  in  the  ^naZ  section. 

Again  are  to  be  observed  not  only  his  own  crafty  and  pertinent  evasions,  but 
likewise  with  what  kind  of  jests,  or  pleasant  accidents,  he  is  most  taken  in  others  ; 
which  will  discover  the  very  degree  of  his  apprehension,  and  even  reach  as  far  as 
to  the  censuring  of  the  whole  nations,  whether  they  be  flat  and  dull,  or  of  quick 
capacity  ;  for  surely  we  have  argument  enough  at  this  day  to  conclude  the  ancient 
Grecians  an  ingenious  people  ;  of  whom  the  vulgar  sort,  such  as  were  haunters 
of  theater s,ioo\i  pleasure  in  the  conceits  of  Aristophanes;  reserving  my  judg- 
ment to  other  place  upon  the  filthy  obscenities  of  that  and  other  authors,  well 
arguing  among  Christians,  when  all  is  said,  that  the  devil  is  one  of  the  wittiest. 

Again,  it  shall  be  fit  to  note,  how  prettily  the  child  himself  doth  manage  his 
pretty  pastimes.  This  may  well  become  an  ordinary  parent,  to  which  so  great 
an  emperor  as  Augustus  descended  in  the  highest  of  his  state,  and  gravest  of 
his  age,  wlio  collected  (as  Suetonius  tells  us)  out  of  all  the  known  world,  espe- 
cially from  the  Syrians  and  Moors,  (where,  by  the  way,  we  may  note  who  were 
then  reputed  the  sharpest  nations-,)  little  boys  of  the  rarest  festivity,  to  play 
before  him  at  their  ordinary  sports.  And  indeed  there  is  much  to  be  noted, 
worthy  of  a  sadder  judgment  in  the  wiliness  of  that  age. 

Again,  I  would  have  noted  in  children,  not  only  their  articulate  answers,  but 
likewise  certain  smiles  and  frowns  upon  incident  'occasions  ;  which,  though  they 
be  dumb  and  light  passions,  will  discover  much  of  that  inward  power  which 
moveth  them,  especially  when  withal  they  lighten  or  cloud  the  whole  face  in  a 
moment. 

Lastly,  let  not  his  very  dreams  be  neglected  ;  for,  without  question,  there  is  a 
great  analogy  between  those  apprehensions  which  he  hatll  taken  by  day  into  his 
fancy,  and  his  nocturnal  impressions;  particularly  in  that  age  which  is  not  yet 
troubled  \vith  the  fumes  and  cares  of  the  world,  so  as  the  soul  hath  a  freer  and 
more  defecated  operation.  And  this  is  enough  for  the  disclosing  of  a  good 
capacity  in  the  popular  way  which  I  have  followed,  because  the  subject  is  general. 

Now  for  the  second  part  of  this  chapter,  touching  inclinations :  for  after  we 
know  how  far  a  child  is  ( apable,  the  next  will  be  to  know  unto  what  course 
he  is  naturally  most  inclined.  There  must  go  before  a  main  research,  whether 
the  child  that  I  am  to  manage  be  of  a  good  nature  or  no ;  as  the  same  term  is 
vulgarly  taken,  for  an  ingenious  and  tractable  disposition  :  which  being  a  funda- 
mental point,  and  the  first  root  of  all  virtuous  actions,  and  though  round  about  in 
every  mother's  mouth,  yet  a  thing  which  will  need  very  nice  and  narrow  observ- 
ation, I  have  spent  some  diligence  in  collecting  certain  private  notes,  which  may 
direct  this  inquiry. 

First,  therefore,  when  I  mark  in  children  much  solitude  and  silence,  I  like  it 
not,  nor  any  thing  born  before  his  time,  as  this  must  needs  be  in  that  sociable  and 
exposed  age,  as  they  are  for  the  most  part.  When,  either  alone  or  in  company, 
they  sit  still  without  doing  of  any  thing,  I  like  it  worse  ;  for  surely  all  dispositions 


SIR  HENRY  WOTTON.  137 

to  idleness,  or  vacancy,  even  before  they  grow  habits,  are  dangerous ;  and  there 
is  commonly  but  a  little  distance  in  time  between  doing  of  nothing,  and  doing 
of  ill, 

APHORISMS  OF  EDUCATION. 
Time  is  the  plainest  legend,  and  every  day  a  leaf  is  turned. 
If  we  look  abroad,  we  shall  see  many  proceed  yearly  out  of  the  schools  of  ex- 
perience, whereas  few,  in  comparison,  are  commended  unto  degrees  by  us:  indeed 
the  multitude  of  those  schools  infinitely  exceeding  our  numbers ;  but  especially 
because  the  means  which  they  follow  are  far  more  obvious  and  easy.  Libraries 
and  lectures  profiting  none,  but  such  as  bring  some  measure  of  understanding 
with  them  ;  but  the  occurrents  of  the  world  being  easily  entertained  by  the  weak- 
est capacities,  assisted  only  with  common  sense :  neither  therefore  is  this  legend 
of  time  to  be  contemned  by  those  whose  wits  are  more  pregnant,  or  studies  fur- 
nished with  greatest  choice.  The  students  of  common  law  manifest  the  benefit 
arising  from  the  use  thereof;  who,  as  by  reading  their  year  books  they  recover 
the  experience  by  former  ages:  so  by  daily  repair  to  the  courts  of  justice,  they 
suffer  nothing  of  the  present  to  pass  unobserved.  And  I  note,  that  whereas  for- 
eign universities  (in  conferring  degrees)  regard  merely  the  performance  of  some 
solemn  exercise,  ours  further  require  a  certain  expense  of  time,  supposing  (as  I 
conceive)  that  howsoever  exercise  of  form  may  be  deceitfully  dispatched  of  course, 
yet  that  he  who  lives  some  space  among  the  assiduous  advantages  and  helps  of 
knowledge,  (except  he  be  of  the  society  of  the  Antipodes,  who  turn  night  into 
day,  and  take  no  notice  of  what  is  done,)  can  not  choose  but  receive  so  much 
upon  ordinary  observation,  as  may  make  him  master  of  some  art ;  which  frequent 
opportunities,  as  they  happily  add  something  to  those  who  are  but  idle  lookers  on, 
60,  no  doubt,  they  must  advance  perfection  in  those  who  are  more  studiously 
observant;  every  day  presenting  their  judgments  with  matters  examinable  by  the 
precepts  they  read,  and  most  producing  to  their  inventions,  occurrents  fit  for  fur- 
ther inquiry. 

Every  nature  is  not  a  fit  stock  to  graft  a  scholar  on. 
The  Spaniard  (that  wrote  the  Trial  of  Wits)  undertakes  to  show  what  com- 
plexion is  fit  for  every  profession.  I  will  not  disable  any  for  proving  a  scholar, 
nor  yet  dissemble  that  I  have  seen  many  happily  forced  upon  that  course  to  which 
by  nature  they  seemed  much  indisposed.  Sometimes  the  possibility  of  preferment 
prevailing  with  the  credulous,  expectation  of  less  expense  with  the  covetous,  opin- 
ion of  ease  with  the  fond,  and  assurance  of  remoteness  with  the  unkind  parents, 
have  moved  them,  without  discretion,  to  engage  their  children  in  adventures  of 
learning,  by  whose  return  they  have  received  but  small  contentment.  But  they 
who  are  deceived  in  their  first  designs  deserve  less  to  be  condemned,  as  such  who 
(after  sufficient  trial)  persist  in  their  willfulness  are  no  way  to  be  pitied.  I  have 
known  some  who  have  been  acquainted  (by  the  complaints  of  governors,  clamors 
of  creditors,  and  confessions  of  their  sons)  what  might  be  expected  of  them,  yet 
have  held  them  in  with  strong  hand,  till  they  have  desperately  quit,  or  disgrace- 
fully forfeited  the  places  where  they  lived.  Deprived  of  which,  they  might  hope 
to  avoid  some  misery,  if  their  friends,  who  were  so  careful  to  bestow  them  in  a 
college  when  they  were  young,  would  be  so  good  as  to  provide  a  room  for  them 
in  some  hospital  when  they  are  old. 


j38  SIR  HENRY  WOTTON. 

He  seldom  speeds  well  in  his  course,  that  stumbles  at  his  setting  forth. 
I  have  ever  be<^n  unwilling  to  hear,  and  careful  not  to  utter,  predictions  of  ill- 
success  ;  oracles  proceeding  as  well  from  superstitious  ignorance,  as  curious  learn- 
ing :  and  what  I  dt- liver  in  these  words,  occasioned  by  examples  past,  I  desire 
may  be  applied  for  prevention,  rather  than  prejudice  to  any  hereafter.  To  the 
same  effect  I  heard  a  discreet  censor  lesson  a  young  scholar,  negligent  at  his  first 
entrance  to  the  elements  of  logic  and  philosophy,  telling  him  that  a  child  starved 
at  nurse  would  hardly  prove  an  able  man.  And  I  have  known  some  who  attended 
with  much  expectation  at  their  first  appearing,  have  stained  the  maidenhead  of 
their  credit  with  some  negligent  performance,  fall  into  irrecoverable  dislike  with 
others,  and  hardly  escape  despair  of  themselves.  They  may  make  a  better 
excuse,  but  not  hope  for  more  favor,  who  can  impute  the  fault  of  their  inauspi- 
cious attempts  somewhere  else — a  circumstance  necessarily  to  be  considered 
where  punishment  is  inflicted ;  but  where  reward  is  proposed  for  worth,  it  is 
as  usually  detained  from  those  who  could  not,  as  from  those  who  cared  not  to 
deserve  it. 

The  way  to  knoivledge  by  epitomes  is  too  straight;  by  commentaries,  too  much 

about. 
It  is  sufferablo  in  any  to  use  what  liberty  they  list  in  their  own  manner  of 
writing,  but  the  contracting  and  extending  the  lines  and  sense  of  others,  if  the' 
first  authors  might  speak  for  themselves,  would  appear  a  thankless  office ;  and 
if  the  readers  did  confer  with  the  originals,  they  would  confess  they  were  not 
thoroughly  or  rightly  informed.  Epitomes  are  helpful  to  the  memory,  and  of 
good  private  use,  but  set  forth  for  public  monuments,  accuse  the  industrious 
writers  of  delivering  much  impertinency,  and  divert  many  to  close  and  shallow 
cisterns,  whose  leisure  might  well  be  acquainted  with  more  deep  and  open 
springs.  In  brief,  what  I  heard  sometimes  spoken  of  Rafnus,  I  believe  of  those 
thrifty  compendiums :  they  show  a  short  course  to  those  who  are  contented  to 
know  a  little,  and  a  sure  way  to  such  whose  care  is  not  to  understand  much. 
Commentaries  are  guilty  of  the  contrary  extreme,  stifling  the  text  with  infinite 
additions,  and  screwing  those  conceits  from  the  words,  which,  if  the  authors  were 
set  on  the  rack,  they  would  never  acknowledge.  He  who  is  discreet  in  bestow- 
ing his  pains,  will  suspect  those  places  to  be  desert  and  barren,  where  the  way 
cau  not  be  found  without  a  guide ;  and  leave  curiosity  in  inquest  of  obscurities, 
wliich,  before  it  receive  content,  doth  lose  or  tire  itself  with  digressions. 

Discretion  is  the  most  universal  art,  and  hath  more  professors  than  students. 
Discretion,  as  I  understand  it,  consists  in  the  useful  knowledge  of  what  is  fit  and 
comely;  of  necessary  direction  in  the  practice  of  moral  duties,  but  most  esteemed 
in  the  composing  and  framing  civil  behavior  :  men  ordinarily  being  better  content 
to  be  dishonest,  than  to  be  conscious  to  themselves  that  they  are  unmannerly. 
Few  study  it,  because  it  is  attained  rather  by  a  natural  felicity,  than  by  any  en- 
deavor or  pains ;  and  mariy  profess  it,  presuming  on  sufficiency  to  censure  others ; 
and  as  unable  to  discern  themselves,  concerning  thoir  own  defects,  as  unaccus- 
tomed to  be  rightly  informed.  It  little  concerns  men  indifferent  what  we  do  in 
that  kind  ;  and  our  friends  are  either  nothing  ofll-nded  therewith,  or  unwilling  to 
jffend  us  with  their  relation  :  our  enemies  seldom  speak  of  it  in  our  hearing,  and 
A'hen  wj  hear,  we  as  hardly  believe  them. 


SIR  HENRY  WOTTON.  J 39 

They  who  travel  far,  easily  miss  their  way. 
Travel  is  reputed  a  proper  means  to  create  men  wise,  and  a  possible  to  make 
them  honest,  because  it  forces  circumspeetness  on  those  abroad,  who  at  home  are 
nursed  in  security ;  and  persuadeth  good  behavior  and  temperance  to  such,  who 
(far  from  friends  and  means)  are  willing  to  have  little  to  do  with  the  lawyer  or 
physician.  Men  coming  into  other  countries,  as  if  born  into  a  strange  world,  with 
some  discretion  above  them,  which  teacheth  both  to  distrust  others,  and  keep 
themselves  sober,  and  to  shift  off  those  homely  fashions  which  nature  and  custom 
in  their  years  of  simplicity  had  put  on  them.  But  these  effects  are  not  general, 
many  receiving  more  good  in  their  bodies  by  the  tossing  of  the  ship,  whilst  they 
are  at  sea,  than  benefit  in  their  minds  by  breathing  in  a  foreign  air  when  they 
come  to  land.  Yet  they  are  as  desirous  men  should  observe  they  have  traveled, 
as  careful  in  their  travels  to  observe  nothing ;  and  therefore  if  they  be  not  able  to 
make  it  known  by  their  relation  and  discourse,  it  shall  appear  by  their  clothes  and 
gesture.  Some  attain  to  greater  perfection,  being  able  to  show  at  what  charge 
they  have  seen  other  places,  by  their  excellency  in  some  other  rare  vices,  or  irreg- 
ularity in  strange  opinions.  As  the  times  are,  he  is  commended  that  makes  a 
saving  voyage,  and  least  discredits  his  travels,  who  returns  the  same  man  he 
went. 

Somewhat  of  a  gentleman  gives  a  tincture  to  a  scholar  ;  too  much  stai7is  him. 

lie  who  advised  the  philosopher  (altogether  devoted  to  the  IMuses)  sometimes  to 
offer  sacrifice  at  the  altars  of  the  Graces,  thought  knowledge  to  be  imperfect  with- 
out behavior,  which  experience  confirms,  able  to  show,  that  the  want  thereof 
breeds  as  much  disrespect  to  many  scholars  with  the  observers  of  ceremonies,  as 
improper  affectation  moves  distaste  in  some  substantial  j  udgments.  Indeed  sloven- 
liness is  the  worst  sign  of  a  hard  student,  and  civility  the  best  exercise  of  the 
remiss ;  yet  not  to  be  exact  in  the  phrase  of  compliment,  or  gestures  of  courtesy, 
the  indifferent  do  pardon  to  those  who  have  been  otherwise  busied  ;  and  rather 
deride,  than  applaud  such,  who  think  it  perfection  enough  to  have  a  good  outside, 
and  happiness  to  be  seen  amongst  those  who  have  better ;  pleasing  themselves 
more  in  opinion  of  some  proficiency,  in  terms  of  hunting  or  horsemanship,  which 
few  that  are  studious  understand,  than  they  blush  to  be  known  ignorant  in  that 
which  every  man  ought  to  know.  To  which  vanity  I  have  known  none  more 
inclined  than  those  whose  birth  did  neither  require,  nor  fortunes  encourage  them 
to  such  costly  idleness  ;  who  at  length  made  sensible  by  necessity,  haply  have  the 
grace  to  repent,  but  seldom  times  the  gift  to  recover 

Books  and  friends  are  better  received  by  weight  than  number. 
The  necessities  of  life  do  warrant  multitude  of  employments,  and  the  vaiiety 
of  natures  excuse  the  diversity  of  delights  ;  but  to  my  discretion  that  course 
seems  most  desirable,  whose  business  occasions  no  further  trouble,  nor  leisure 
requires  other  recreations  than  may  indifferently  be  entertained  with  books  and 
friends.  They  are  indeed  happy  who  meet  with  such  whom  they  may  trust  in 
both  kinds ;  and  undoubtedly  wise,  that  can  well  apply  them  :  the  imperfect  ap- 
prehension and  misuse  never  producing  any  good  effect.  For  so  we  see  capacious 
understandings  (by  continual  inquiry  and  perusal  of  all  sorts  of  authois)  thrive  no 
better  in  their  knowledge  than  some  men  of  good  disposition  (addicted  generally 
to  acquaintance)  are  gainers  by  the  reckoning,  when  they  cast  up  their  expense 


140  SIR  HENRY  WOTTON. 

of  time.  The  hunger  of  the  one  breodeth  a  consumption,  and  the  other's  thirst 
not  determining  but  by  some  humorous  disease;  nay,  they  who  seem  to  respect 
choice,  sometimes  err  perniciously ;  which  the  Frenchman  observed,  who  main- 
tained his  country  was  much  the  worse  by  old  men's  studying  the  venom  of 
policy,  and  young  men's  reading  the  dregs  of  fancy.  And  it  is  manifest  that  in 
our  little  commonwealth  of  learning,  much  disparagement  is  occasioned,  when 
able  spirits  (attracted  by  familiarity)  are  inflamed  with  faction,  and  good  natures 
(carried  away  with  the  stream  of  more  pleasant  company)  are  drowned  in  good 
fellowship. 

Love  that  observes  formality  is  seated  rather  in  the  brain  than  in  the  heart. 
By  formality,  I  mean  something  more  than  ceremony  and  compliment,  (which 
are  the  gesture  and  phrase  of  dissemblers,)  even  a  solemn  revereiidncss,  which 
may  well  consist  with  honesty ;  not  but  that  I  admire  a  constant  gravity,  which 
upon  no  assurance  will  bewray  the  least  imperfection  to  any :  but  confess,  I  am 
far  from  suspecting  simplicity,  which  (careful  to  observe  more  real  duties  towards 
all)  is  bold  to  trespass  in  points  of  (fecorum  amongst  some,  which  without  blushing 
could  not  be  confessed  to  others.  A  sign,  from  whence  the  greatest  rcasoner 
draws  an  argument  of  good  affection,  which  (as  divine  charity  covers  many 
offenses)  in  the  experience  of  common  humanity  is  content  to  dispense  with. 
And  although  policy  shows  it  to  be  the  safest  course  to  give  advantage  to  none, 
yet  an  ingenuous  nature  thinks  that  he  is  scarce  able  to  distinguish  betwixt  an 
enemy  and  a  friend,  that  stands  wholly  upon  his  own  guard. 

An  enemy  is  better  recovered  by  great  kindness,  than  a  friend  assured. 
There  are  some  relics  of  goodness  found  even  in  the  worst  natures,  and  out  of 
question  seeds  of  evil  in  those  who  are  esteemed  best ;  whence  it  may  appear 
less  strange,  that  hearts  possessed  with  rancor  and  malice  are  overcome  with 
beneficence,  and  minds  otherwise  well  qualified  prove  sometimes  ungrateful ;  the 
one  forced  to  confess  satisfaction  received  far  more  than  was  due  ;  the  other,  to 
acknowledge  a  debt  of  greater  value  than  they  are  able  to  pay  :  howsoever,  smaller 
courtesies  seem  not  visible,  great  ones  inducing  an  obligation  upon  public  record. 

The  sincercst  liberality  consists  in  refusing,  and  the  most  innocent  thrift  in 

saving. 

The  bestowing  of  gifts  is  more  glorious  than  the  refusing  of  bribes ;  because 
gifts  are  commonly  delivered  in  public,  whereas  men  use  not  to  confess  what 
they  owe,  or  offer  what  they  ought  not,  before  witnesses.  But  in  true  estimation, 
it  is  as  honorable  a  virtue  not  to  receive,  as  to  disperse  benefits ;  it  being  of 
greater  merit  wholly  to  abstain  from  things  desirable,  than  after  fruition  to  be 
content  to  leave  them ;  as  they  who  miignify  single  life  prefer  virginity  much 
before  widowhood.  Yet  some  (in  whom  this  kind  of  bounty  is  little  observed) 
are  unworthily  censured  for  keeping  their  own,  whom  tenderness  how  to  get 
honestly  teacheth  to  spend  discreetly  ;  whei'eas  such  need  no  great  tliriftiness  in 
preserving  their  own,  who  assume  more  liberty  in  exacting  from  others. 

Commendations  proceeding  from  subtlety,  captive  the  object;  from  simplicity, 

the  author. 
There  is  a  skill  to  purchase,  and  pay  debts  only  with  fair  words,  drawing  on 
good  offices,  and  requiting  them  with  oonmiendations ;  the  felicity  whereof  hath 


SIR  HENRY  WOTTON.  141 

made  flattery  the  most  familiar  rhetoric,  a  leaving  the  old  method  of  persuasion, 
by  insinuating  the  worth  of  him  who  desires  to  receive,  and  with  more  ease  rais- 
ing a  self-concL'it  in  the  man  who  is  apt  to  swallow  such  light  bribery,  and  not 
often  indisposed  to  digest  unthankfuluess  so  curiously  seasoned.  But  it  is  no 
great  inconvenience  that  kindness  should  be  bestowed  gratis,  or  upon  cheap  con- 
ditions ;  the  loss  is,  when  men  of  plain  meaning  adventure  on  the  exchange  and 
use  of  this  coin,  who,  forward  to  profess  their  belief,  image  the  credit  of  their 
wisdom  on  the  behavior  of  such,  whose  actions  are  not  within  their  power,  and 
become  bound  in  suretyship,  without  the  help  of  a  scrivener:  which  inconsiderate 
affection  makes  many  earnest  speakers  in  defense  of  injuries  done  to  others,  and 
silent  patients  of  wrongs  unexpectedly  befalling  themselves ;  desire  to  make  good 
their  error,  pressing  their  tongues  to  so  unjust  service;  or  care  to  dissemble  it, 
debarring  them  from  the  general  liberty  of  poor  complaint. 

Expectation  prepareth  applause  with  the  weak,  and  prejudice  with  the  stronger 

judgments. 
The  fashion  of  commending  our  friends'  abilities  before  they  come  to  trial, 
Bometimes  takes  good  eftect  with  the  common  sort,  who,  building  their  belief  on 
authority,  strive  to  follow  the  conceit  of  their  betters  ;  but  usually  amongst  men 
of  independent  judgments,  this  bespeaking  of  opinion  breeds  a  purpose  of  stricter 
examination  ;  and  if  the  report  be  answered,  procures  only  a  bare  acknowledg- 
ment ;  whereas,  if  nothing  be  proclaimed  or  promised,  they  are  perhaps  content 
to  signify  their  own  skill  in  testifying  another's  desert :  othervv'ise  great  wits, 
jealous  of  their  credit,  are  ready  to  suppress  worth  in  others,  to  the  advancing 
of  their  own,  and  (if  more  ingenuous)  no  farther  just  than  to  forbear  detraction ; 
at  the  best  rather  disposed  to  give  praise  upon  their  own  accord,  than  to  mako 
payment  upon  demand  or  challenge. 

The  testimony  of  sufficiency  is  better  entertained  than  the  report  of  excellency. 
The  n.'iture  of  some  places  necessarily  requires  men  competently  endowed,  but 
where  there  is  choice  none  think  the  appointment  to  be  a  duty  of  justice  bound 
to  respect  the  best  desert:  nay,  the  best  conceive  it  a  work  of  free  bounty,  which 
men  of  mean  qualities  are  likely  to  acknowledge,  and  the  worldly  make  it  a 
business  of  profit,  unto  which  the  most  deserving  are  least  apt  to  subscribe.  But 
jesides  these  unlucky  influences  from  above,  this  cross  success  may  be  occasioned 
either  by  the  too  great  confidence  of  those  who  hope  to  rise,  or  the  jealous  dis- 
trust of  such  as  are  already  raised,  whilst  they  too  much  presuming  on  their  own 
desert,  neglect  all  auxiliary  strength,  these  suspecting  some  diminution  to  their 
own,  stop  the  passage  of  another's  worth  ;  that  being  most  certain,  Alterius  vir- 
tuti  invidet,  qui  diffidit  sua. 

He  that  appears  often  in  the  same  place,  gets  little  ground  in  the  way  to  credit. 
Familiar  and  frequent  use,  which  makes  things  (at  first  ungrateful)  by  continu- 
ance pleasing  or  tolerable,  takes  away  the  luster  from  more  excellent  objects,  and 
reduceth  them  from  the  height  of  admiration,  to  the  low  degrees  of  neglect,  dis- 
like, and  contempt ;  which  were  not  strange,  if  it  wrought  only  among  the  vulgar, 
whose  oi)inion  (like  their  stomachs)  is  overcome  with  satiety,  or  men  of  something 
a  higher  staga,  the  edge  of  v/hose  sight  is  abated  and  dulled  by  long  gazing ;  but 
the  same  entertainment  is  given  by  the  judicious  and  learned,  cither  because  thoy 
observe  some  defects,  which  at  first  sight  are  less  visible ;  or  the  actors  in  this 


142  SIR  HENRY  WOTTON. 

kind  betray  weakness  in  their  latter  attempts,  usually  straining  so  high  at  first, 
that  they  are  not  able  to  reach  again  in  the  rest ;  or  by  this  often  obtrusion  not 
required,  discover  a  good  conceit  of  their  own  graces;  and  men  so  well  affected 
to  themselves  are  generally  so  happy  as  to  have  little  cause  to  complain  of  co- 
rivals. 

The  active  man  riseth  not  so  well  by  his  strength,  as  the  expert  by  his  stirrup. 
They  that  climb  towards  preferment  or  greatness  by  their  own  virtue,  get  up 
with  much  ado  and  very  slowly ;  whereas  such  as  are  raised  by  other  means, 
usually  ascend  lightly  and  appear  more  happy  in  their  sudden  advancements, 
sometimes  by  the  only  strength  of  those  who  stand  above,  exercising  their  power 
in  their  dependents  commonly  by  subordinate  helps  and  assistance,  which  young 
men  happily  obtain  from  the  commendations  of  friends,  old  men  often  compass 
by  the  credit  of  their  wealth,  who  have  a  great  advantage  in  that  they  are  best 
able  to  purchase,  and  likely  soonest  to  leave  the  room. 

Few  men  thrive  by  one  only  art,  fewer  by  many. 
Amongst  tradesmen  of  meaner  sort,  they  are  not  poorest  whose  shop  windows 
open  over  a  red  lattice ;  and  the  wealthiest  merchants  employ  scriveners  for 
security  at  home,  as  much  as  factors  for  their  advantage  abroad,  both  finding  not 
more  warrantable  gains  by  negotiating  with  the  industrious,  than  profitable  returns 
by  dealing  with  unthrifts.  The  disposition  of  the  time  hath  taught  this  wisdom 
to  more  ingenuous  professions,  which  are  best  entertained  when  they  come  ac- 
companied with  some  other  respects,  whence  preeiseness  is  become  a  good  habit 
to  plead  in,  and  papistry  a  privy  commendation  to  the  practice  of  physic,  conten- 
tious zeal  making  most  clients,  and  sensual  superstition  yielding  the  best  patients. 
They  who  are  intent  bj'  diverse  means  to  make  progress  in  their  estate,  can  not 
succeed  well,  as  he  that  would  run  upon  his  hands  and  feet  makes  less  speed 
than  one  who  goes  as  nature  taught  him  ;  the  untoward  moving  of  some  unskill- 
ful parts,  hindering  the  going  forward  of  those  which  are  better  disposed. 

Jt  is  good  to  profess  betimes,  and  practice  at  leisure. 
Tliere  is  a  saying,  that  the  best  choice  is  of  an  old  physician,  and  a  young 
lawyer  :  the  reason  supposed,  because  where  errors  are  fatal,  ability  of  judgment 
and  moderation  are  required  ;  but  where  advantages  may  be  wrought  upon,  dil- 
igence and  quickness  of  wit  are  of  more  special  use.  But  if  it  be  considered 
who  are  generally  most  esteemed,  it  will  appear  that  opinion  of  the  multitude 
sets  up  the  one,  and  the  favor  of  authority  upholds  the  other  ;  yet  in  truth,  a 
man's  age  and  time  are  of  necessary  regard,  such  of  themselves  succeeding  best, 
who  in  these  or  any  other  professions,  neither  defer  their  resolutions  too  long, 
nor  begin  their  practice  too  soon  ;  whereas  ordin.irily,  they  who  are  immaturely 
adventurous,  by  their  insufficiency  hurt  others ;  they  who  are  tedious  in  delibera- 
tion, by  some  improvidence  hinder  themselves. 

Felicity  shows  the  ground  where  industry  builds  a  fortune. 

Archimedes,  the  great  engineer,  (who,  in  defending  Syracuse  against  Marcel- 

lus,  shewed  wonderful  experiments  of  his  extraordinary  skill,)  was  bold  to  say, 

that  he  would  remove  the  world  out  of  his  place,  if  he  had  elsewhere  to  set  hit 

foot.     And  truly  I  believe  so  far,  that  otherwise  he  could  not  do  it :  I  am  sure, 


SIR  HENRY  WOTTON.  143 

80  mnch  is  evident  in  the  architecture  of  fortunes  ;  in  the  raising  of  which  the 
best  art  or  endeavor  is  able  to  do  nothing,  if  it  have  not  where  to  lay  the  first 
stone  ;  for  it  is  possible  with  the  like  skill  to  raise  a  frame  when  we  have  matter, 
but  not  to  create  something  out  of  nothing  :  the  first  being  the  ordinary  effect 
of  industry,  this  only  of  divine  power.  Indeed,  many  from  very  mean  begin- 
nings have  aspired  to  very  eminent  place,  and  we  usually  ascribe  it  to  their  own 
worth,  which  no  doubt  in  some  is  great ;  yet  as  in  religion  we  are  bound  to 
believe,  so  in  truth  the  best  of  them  will  confess,  that  the  first  advantage  was 
reached  out  merely  by  a  divine  hand,  which  also,  no  doubt,  did  always  assist  their 
after  endeavors.  Some  have  the  felicity  to  be  born  heirs  to  good  estates,  others 
to  be  made  so  beyond  their  hopes.  Marriage  (besides  the  good  which  oftentimes 
it  confers  directly)  collaterally  sometimes  helps  to  offices,  sometimes  to  benefices, 
sometimes  to  dignities.  Many  rise  by  relation  and  dependence,  it  being  a  happy 
step  to  some,  to  have  fallen  on  a  fortunate  master,  to  some  on  a  foolish,  to  some 
(few)  on  a  good.  There  are  divers  other  means,  of  which,  as  of  these,  I  am  not 
BO  fit  to  speak,  but  truly  considered,  they  are  all  out  of  our  own  power,  which  he 
that  presumeth  most  can  not  promise  himself;  and  he  that  expects  least,  8ome< 
times  attains. 


JOHN  MILTON. 


To  make  this  Journal  the  repository  of  the  History  and  Literature 
■of  the  great  subject  to  which  it  is  exclusively  devoted,  we  shall  enrich 
our  pages  from  time  to  time  with  some  of  the  most  valuable  contri- 
butions which  have  been  made  in  past  years  by  eminent  scholars  and 
educators,  either  in  independent  treatises,  or  occasional  suggestions, 
for  the  improvement  of  systems,  institutions  or  methods  of  education. 
With  this  view,  and  because  of  its  large  scope  and  generous  spirit, 
and  not  because  its  details  are  of  immediate  use,  we  republish  the 
Tractate  of  John  Milton,  the  most  resplendent  name  for  genius  and 
culture,  in  prose  and  poetry,  in  English  literature,  on  the  reforming  of 
education,  which  he  deemed  "  one  of  the  greatest  and  noblest  designs 
that  can  be  thought  on  " — "  the  only  genuine  source  of  political  and 
individual  liberty,  the  only  true  safeguard  of  states,  the  bulwark  of 
their  prosperity  and  renown."  The  design  of  this  essay — first  pub- 
lished amid  the  revolutionary  upbreak  of  English  society,  in  the  year 
]  644 — was  not  to  unfold  a  scheme  of  general  education,  necessarily 
limited  and  superficial  in  its  course  of  study,  but  to  map  out  the  vast 
domain  of  literature  and  science,  which  pupils  of  ample  leisure 
and  fortune,  and  of  the  highest  industry,  and  emulative  ardor,  with 
teachers  of  the  best  learning  and  genius,  could  successfully  traverse 
and  master.  Its  aim  was  far  beyond  anything  attained  at  that  day 
by  the  university  scholars  of  England,  and  its  details  anticipates  re- 
forms in  the  direction  of  practical  science,  which  after  the  lapse  of 
two  hundred  years,  are  now  likely  to  be  generally  introduced  into 
the  educational  schemes  of  that  country.  Its  diligent  perusal  can 
not  but  inflame  any  ingenuous  mind  "  with  a  love  of  study  and  the  ad- 
miration of  virtue,"  and  its  precepts  faithfully  followed,  can  not  but 
fit  men  "to  perform  justly,  skilfully,  and  magnanimously  all  the  offi- 
ces, both  private  and  public,  of  peace  and  war."  We  can  not  more 
appropriately  introduce  this  essay  than  by  an  account  of  Milton's 
education,  principally  in  his  own  vigorous  and  eloquent  prose. 

John  Milton  was  born  in  London  on  the  9th  of  December,  1608. 
His  father  was  a  man  of  education  and  property,  and  gave  his  son 
every  facility  for  acquiring  a  consummate  education.  To  his  moth 
jr's  excellence  of  character  and  deeds  of  charity,  Milton  boars  willing 

iU 


i46  MILTON  ON  EDUCATION. 

testimony  in  his  second  eloquent  defence  of  the  peoiile  of  Eng- 
land, nis  early  training  was  partly  under  a  private  tutor,  nam*^d 
Thomas  Young,  a  man  of  learning  and  piety,  who  inspired  his  pupil 
with  respect  and  affection ;  and  partly  in  one  of  the  public  schools 
of  London,  that  of  St.  Paul's,  then  presided  over  bv  Alexander  Gill. 
On  the  12th  of  February  he  entered  a  pensioner,  [not  depend«nt  on 
the  foundation  for  support,  but  paid  for  his  board  and  tuition]  of 
Christ's  College,  in  the  University  at  Cambridge,  bein"-  «ixteen  years 
and  two  months  old.  After  a  residence  of  seven  years,  devoted  to 
literature  and  the  arts,  as  then  taught  ,  he  left  in  the  year  1632,  hav- 
ing taken  in  regular  course,  the  two  degrees  of  bachelor  and  master 
of  arts.* 

On  quitting  the  university,  Milton  took  up  his  abode  with  his  fa- 
ther, who  had  purchased  a  property  in  the  village  of  Horton,  in 
Buckinghamshire,  devoting  himself  to  the  most  thorough  and 
comprehensive  course  of  reading — "beholding  the  bright  coun- 
tenance of  Truth  in  the  quiet  and  still  air  of  delightful  studies," 
and  embodying  his  observations  of  nature  and  his  pure  and  beautiful 
imaginings  into  the  immortal  verse  of  L'Allegro  and  II  Penseroso,  of 
Lycidas  and  Comus  ;  and  above  all,  moulding  and  consolidating 
his  own  character  and  life  into  "  a  true  poem  ;  that  is,  a  composition 
and  pattern  of  the  best  and  honorablest  things." 

Of  this  period  of  his  life,  in  his  apology,  Milton  says, — "My  morn- 
ing haunts  are,  where  they  should  be,  at  home,  not  sleeping,  or  concoct- 
ing the  surfeits  of  an  irregular  feast,  but  up  and-  stirring ;  in  win- 
ter, often  ere  the  sound  of  any  bell  awake  men  to  labor,  or  to  devo- 
tion ;  in  summer,  as  oft  with  the  bird  that  first  rouses,  or  not  much 
tardier;  to  read  good  authors,  or  cause  them  to  be  read,  till  the  atten- 
tion be  weary,  or  memory  have  it  full  fraught ;  then  with  useful  and 
generous  labors,  preserving  the  body's  health  and  hardiness,  to  render 
lightsome,  clear,  and  not  lumpish  obedience  to  the  mind,  to  religion, 
and  our  country's  liberty,  when  it  shall  require  firm  hearts  in  sound 
bodies  to  stand  and  cover  their  stations."  Milton  made  no  pretension 
to  a  life  without  "  some  recreating  intermission  of  labor  and  serious 
things," — but  sought  in  cheerful  conversation,  and  with  the  harmonies 

'  To  one  of  his  opponents,  who  asserted  that  he  had  been  "  vomited  out  of  the  University 
after  having  spent  there  a  riotous  youth,  he  replied  in  his  "  Apoloiiy  for  Smectymnuns  ;  " 
'•  It  hath  given  me  an  apt  occasion  to  acknowledge  publicly,  with  all  grateful  mind  the  more 
than  ordinary  favor  and  respect  which  I  found,  above  any  of  my  equals,  at  the  hands  of 
those  courteous  and  learned  men,  the  Fellows  of  the  College,  wherein  I  spent  some  years, 
who  at  my  parting,  after  I  had  triken  two  degrees,  as  the  manner  Is  signified,  many  ways, 
how  much  better  it  would  content  them  if  I  could  stay,  as  by  many  letters  full  of  kindness 
and  loving  respect,  both  before  that  time,  and  long  after,  I  was  assured  of  their  sinsular  gooj 
affection  toward  me." 


MILTON  ON  EDUCATION.  147 

of  music  heard  or  performed,  and  in  lofty  fable  and  romance, 
to  retouch  his  spirit  to  fresh  issues,  and  prepare  himself  for  hardier 
tasks. 

"  Next — for  hear  me  out  now,  readers,  that  I  may  tell  whither  my 
younger  feet  wandered, — T  betook  me  among  those  lofty  fables  and 
romances  which  recount  in  solemn  cantos  the  deeds  of  knighthood 
founded  by  our  victorious  kings,  and  from  hence  had  in  renown  over 
all  Christendom.  There  I  read,  in  the  oath  of  every  knight,  that  he 
should  defend  to  the  expense  of  his  best  blood,  or  even  of  his  life,  if 
it  so  befall  him,  the  honor  and  chastity  of  virgin  or  matron ;  from 
whence  even  then  I  learned  what  a  noble  virtue  chastity  sure  must 
be,  to  the  defence  of  which  so  many  worthies,  by  such  dear  adven- 
ture of  themselves  had  sworn.  Also  this  my  mind  gave  me,  that  every 
free  and  gentle  spirit,  without  that  oath,  ought  to  be  born  a  knight, 
nor  needed  to  expect  the  gilt  spur,  or  the  laying  a  sword  upon  his 
shoulder  to  stir  him  up,  both  by  his  counsel  and  his  arms,  to  secure 
and  protect  the  weakness  of  attempted  chastity  ;  "  and  then  those 
books,  read  in  hours  of  recreation,  "  proved  to  him  so  many  incite- 
ments to  the  love  and  observation  of  virtue.  "  But  his  strong  protec- 
tion against  the  seductions  of  vice  was  not  in  the  laureat  fraternity 
of  poets,  or  the  shady  spaces  of  philosophy,  but  his  early  home  reli- 
gious culture.  "  Last  of  all, — not  in  time,  but  as  perfection  is  last, 
that  care  was  always  liad  of  me,  with  my  earliest  capacity,  not  to  be 
negligently  trained  in  the  precepts  of  the  Christian  religion." 

But  his  education  was  not  yet  complete.  On  the  death  of  his 
mother,  he  visited  the  continent,  and  especially  Italy,  "  the  seat  of 
civilization,  and  the  hospitible  domicil  of  every  species  of  erudition." 
In  a  tour  of  fifteen  months,  he  made  the  personal  acquaintance  of 
several  men  of  genius,  "whose  names  the  world  will  not  willingly  let 
die  ;''  among  them,  Grotius,  and  Galileo ;  and  was  everywhere  re- 
ceived by  men  of  learning,  on  a  footing  of  equality,  which  only  great 
conversati<jnal  powers  and  sound  scholarship  could  sustain.  Of  this 
portion  of  his  life,  we  fortunately  have  a  brief  record  from  his  own 
pen  in  reply  to  some  utterly  unfounded  charges  of  his  unscrupulous 
assailants,  both  as  to  his  motives  for  travel,  and  his  manner  of  life 
while  abroad. 

"  On  my  departure,  the  celebrated  Henry  Wotton  who  had  long 
been  king  James'  ambassador  at  Venice,  gave  me  a  signal  proof  of 
his  regard,  in  an  elegant  letter  which  he  wrote,  breathing  not  only 
the  warmest  friendship,  but  containing  some  maxims  uf  conduct 
which  I  found  very  useful  in  my  travels.  The  noble  Thomas  Scuda- 
more,  king  Charles'  ambassador,  to  whom  I  carried  letters  of  recom- 


148  MILTON  ON  EDUCATION. 

mendation,  received  me  most  courteously  at  Paris.  His  lordship 
gave  me  a  card  of  introduction  to  the  learned  Hugo  Grotins,  at  that 
time  ambassador  from  the  Queen  of  Sweden  to  the  French  court : 
whose  acquaintance  I  anxiously  desired,  and  to  whose  house  I  was 
accompanied  by  some  of  his  lordship's  friends.  A  few  days  after, 
when  I  set  out  for  Italy,  he  gave  me  letters  to  the  English  merchants 
on  my  route,  that  they  might  show  me  any  civilities  in  their  power. 

Taking  ship  at  Nice,  I  arrived  at  Genoa,  and  afterwards  visited 
Leghorn,  Pisa,  and  Florence.  In  the  latter  city,  which  I  have  always 
more  particularly  esteemed  for  the  elegance  of  its  dialect,  its  genius 
and  its  taste,  I  stopped  about  two  months,  when  I  contracted  an 
intimacy  with  many  persons  of  rank  and  learning,  and  was  a  con- 
stant attendant  at  their  literary  parties ;  a  practice  which  prevails 
there,  and  tends  so  much  to  the  diffusion  of  knowledge  and  the  pres- 
ervation of  friendship. 

No  time  will  ever  abolish  the  agreeable  recollections  which  I  cher- 
ish of  Jacob  Gaddi,  Carolo  Dati,  Cultellero,  Bonomotthai,  Clement- 
illo,  Francisco,  and  many  others. 

From  Florence  I  went  to  Siena,  thence  to  Rome,  where,  after  I  had 
spent  about  two  mouths  in  viewing  the  antiquities  of  that  renowned 
city,  where  I  experienced  the  most  friendly  attentions  from  Lucas 
Holstein,  and  other  learned  and  ingenious  men,  I  continued  my  route 
to  Naples.  There  I  was  introduced  by  a  certain  recluse,  with  whom  I 
had  traveled  from  Rome,  to  John  Baptista  Manso,  Marquis  of  Villa,  a 
nobleman  of  distinguished  rank  and  authority,  to  whom  Torquato 
Tasso,  the  illustrious  poet,  inscribed  his  book  on  friendship. 

During  my  stay  he  gave  me  singular  proofs  of  his  regard  ;  he  him- 
self conducted  me  around  the  city,  and  to  the  palace  of  the  viceroy  : 
and  more  than  once  paid  me  a  visit  at  my  lodgings.  On  my  depart- 
ure he  gravely  apologized  for  not  having  shown  me  more  civility, 
which  he  said  he  had  been  restrained  from  doing,  because  I  had  spo- 
ken with  so  little  reserve  on  matters  of  religion.  When  I  was  pre- 
paring to  pass  over  into  Sicily  and  Greece,  the  melancholy  intelligence 
which  I  received  of  the  civil  commotions  in  England,  made  me  alter 
my  purpose,  for  I  thought  it  base  to  be  traveling  for  amusement 
abroad,  while  my  fellow  citizens  were  fighting  for  liberty  at  home. 
While  I  was  on  my  way  back  to  Rome,  some  merchants  informed  me 
that  the  English  Jesuits  had  formed  a  plot  against  me,  if  I  returned 
to  Rome,  because  I  had  spoken  too  freely  on  religion ;  for  it  was  a 
rule  which  I  laid  down  to  myself  in  those  places,  never  to  first  begin 
any  conversation  on  religion  ;  but  if  any  questions  were  put  to  me 
concerning  ray  faith,  to  declare  it  without  reserve  or  fear.     I  never- 


MILTON  ON  EDUCATION.  1  4& 

theless,  returned  to  Rome.  I  took  no  steps  to  conceal  either  my  per- 
son or  my  character ;  and  for  about  the  space  of  two  months  I  again 
openly  defended,  as  I  had  done  before,  the  reformed  religion,  in  the 
very  metropolis  of  popery.  By  the  favor  of  God,  I  got  safe  back  to 
Florence,  where  I  was  received  with  as  much  aft'ection  as  if  I  had 
returned  to  ray  native  country.  There  I  stopped  as  many  montlis  as 
I  had  done  before,  except  that  I  made  an  excursion  for  a  few  days  to 
Lucca ;  and,  crossing  the  Apenines,  passed  through  Bologna  and 
Ferrara  to  Venice.  After  I  had  spent  a  month  surveying  the  curios- 
ities of  this  city,  and  had  put  on  board  the  ship  the  books  which  I 
had  collected  in  Italy,  I  proceeded  through  Verona  and  Milan  and 
along  the  Leman  lake  to  Geneva. 

The  mention  of  this  city  brings  to  my  recollection  the  slandering 
More,  and  makes  me  again  call  the  Deity  to  witness,  that  in  all  those 
places  in  which  vice  meets  with  so  little  discouragement,  and  is 
practiced  with  so  little  shame,  I  never  once  deviated  from  the  path 
of  integrity  and  virtue,  and  perjietually  reflected  that,  though  mj'- 
conduct  might  escape  the  notice  of  men,  it  could  not  elude  the 
inspection  of  God.  At  Geneva  I  held  daily  conferences  with  John 
Deodati,  the  learned  professor  of  Theology.  Then  pursuing  my  for- 
mer route  through  France,  I  returned  to  my  native  country,  after  an 
absence  of  one  year  and  about  three  months :  at  the  time  when 
Charles  having  broken  the  peace,  was  renewing  what  is  called  the 
Episcopal  war  with  the  Scots,  in  which  the  royalists  being  routed  in 
the  first  encounter,  and  the  English  being  universally  and  justly  dis- 
affected, the  necessity  of  his  affairs  at  last  obliged  him  to  convene  a 
parliament.  As  soon  as  I  was  able  I  hired  a  spacious  house  in  the 
".ity  for  myself  and  my  books ;  where  I  again  with  rapture  renewed 
T3y  literary  pursuits,  and  where  I  calmly  awaited  the  issue  of  the 
iontest,  which  I  trusted  to  the  wise  conduct  of  Providence,  and  to 
the  courage  of  the  people." 

Thus  equipped  by  genius,  "  the  inspired  gift  of  God  rarely  vouch- 
safed, but  yet  to  some  in  every  nation,"  by  learning  at  once  elegant 
and  profound,  and  by  travel,  under  the  most  favorable  opportunities 
of  studying  works  of  art,  and  of  intercourse  with  refined  society,  and 
with  aspirations  of  the  most  honorable  achievements  for  the  good  of 
his  race,  and  the  glory  of  God,  Milton  did  not  feel  it  below  his  posi- 
tion or  his  hopes  to  become  a  teacher,  to  compose  school-books,  and  to 
employ  his  great  abilities  in  pointing  out  "  the  right  path  of  a  virtu- 
ous and  noble  education, — laborious  indeed  at  the  first  ascent,  but 
else  so  smooth,  so  green,  so  full  of  goodly  prospect,  and  melodious 
sounds  on  every  side,  that  the  harp  of  Orpheus  was  not  more  charming." 


150  MILTON  ON  EDUCATION. 

What  be  might  have  accomplished  in  his  own  school,  if  he  hau 
converted  it  into  an  "  Academy,"  such  as  he  described  in  his  Tractate, 
which  was  to  be  "at  once  both  school  and  university  for  a  complete 
and  generous  education,"  except  in  mere  professional  training ;  had 
he  devoted  himself  unreservedly,  for  any  considerable  time,  to  this 
work,  with  text-books  of  his  own  composing,*  and  with  pupilsf  capable 
of  receiving  his  instruction  with  the  same  acuteness  of  wit  and  appre- 
hension, the  same  industry  and  thirst  after  knowledge  as  the  instructor 
was  imbued  with,"  is  now  only  left  to  conjocture.  Apart  from  the 
direct  fruit  of  his  teaching,  in  giving  to  his  country  a  succession  of 
well-trained  youth,  a  portion,  at  least,  imbued  with  his  own  ingenuous 
and  noble  ardor,  "inflamed  with  the  love  of  learning  and  the  admira- 
tion of  virtue,  and  stirred  up  with  high  hopes  of  living  to  be  brave 
men  and  worthy  patriots,  dear  to  God,  and  famous  to  all  ages," — his 
example  would  indirectly  have  elevated  the  office  of  educator  of  the 
young  in  public  estimation,  and  demonstrated  the  wisdom  of  securing 
for  it  the  best  talent  and  highest  culture  of  the  community.  But  the 
times  called  for  such  talents  and  scholarship  as  he  possessed,  in  other 
walks  less  retired  and  peaceful ;  and,  "  when  God  commands  to  take 
the  trumpet  and  blow  a  dolorous  or  a  jarring  blast,  it  lies  not  in  man's 
will  what  he  shall  say,  or  what  he  shall  conceal."  And,  he  did  take 
the  trumpet,  and,  in  defence  of  the  people  of  England,  and  of  their 
right  to  institute  a  republican  government,  and  of  the  liberty  of  the  press, 
and  of  conscience  in  matters  of  religion,  against  prelates,  priests,  and 
kings,  and  their  hirelings,  he  blew  a  blast,  again  and  again,  "of  which 
all  Europe  rang,  from  side  to  side."  And,  although  it  was  his  lot  to 
fall  on  "evil  times  and  evil  tongues," — to  see  "the  good  old  cause" 
of  the  commonwealth  shipwrecked,  and  every  species  of  licentious- 
ness roll  in  like  a  flood  over  the  land  which  he  would  gladly  have 
made  to  smile  with  the  triumphs  of  temperance,  frugality,  knowledge, 
and  liberty,  yet,  not  bating  one  jot  of  heart  or  hope,  in  his  blind- 
ness and  disappointment,  he  addressed  himself  to  the  achievement  of 
his  great  poem,  the  Paradise  Lost. 

Dr.  Johnson,  in  his  Life  of  Milton,  with  that  spirit  of  depreciation 
which  breathes  throughout  his  notice  of  Milton's  opinions,  character 
and  life,  and  which  was  prompted  by  his  hatred  of  the  great  poet's 
religious  and  political  sentiments,  makes  the  following  remarks  on  the 
educational  labors  of  our  author. 

"  Let  not  our  veneration  for  Milton  forbid  us  to  look  with  some  degree 

•Milton  was  the  author  of  a  Latin  Grammar,  a  Treatise  on  Logic,  and  a  Latin  Lexicon 
tThis  is  the  language  of  one  of  his  pupils,  who  adds  that  such  teaching,  with  the  right  sort 
of  youth,  would  have  produced  '-prodigies  of  wit  [mind]  and  learning." 


MILTON  ON  EDUCATION.  151 

of  merriment  on  great  promises  and  small  performance,  on  the  man 
■who  hastens  home,  because  his  countrymen  are  contending  for  their 
liberty,  and,  when  he  reaches  the  scene  of  action,  vapors  away  his 
patriotism  in  a  private  boarding-school.  This  is  the  period  of  his  life 
from  which  all  his  biographers  seem  inclined  to  shrink.  They  are 
unwilling  that  Milton  should  be  degraded  to  a  school-master ;  but, 
since  it  cannot  be  denied  that  he  taught  boys,  one  finds  out  that  he 
taught  for  nothing,  and  another  that  his  motive  was  only  zeal  for  the 
propagation  of  learning  and  virtue;  and,  all  tell  what  they  do  not 
know  to  be  true,  only  to  excuse  an  act  which  no  wise  man  will  con- 
sider as,  in  itself,  disgraceful.  His  father  was  alive ;  his  allowance 
■was  not  ample,  and  he  supplied  its  deficiencies  by  an  honest  and  use- 
ful employment. 

It  is  told  that,  in  the  art  of  education,  he  performed  wonders ;  and, 
a  formidable  list  is  given  of  the  authors,  Greek  and  Latin,  that  were 
read  in  Aldergate  street  by  youth  between  ten  and  fifteen  or  sixteen 
years  of  age.  Those  who  tell  or  receive  these  stories  should  consider 
that  nobody  can  be  taught  faster  than  he  can  learn.  The  speed  of 
the  horseman  must  be  limited  by  the  power  of  the  horse.  Every 
man  that  has  ever  undertaken  to  instruct  others  can  tell  what  slow 
advances  he  has  been  able  to  make,  and  how  much  patience  it  requires 
to  recall  vagrant  inattention,  to  stimulate  sluggish  indifference,  and  to 
rectify  absurd  misapprehension. 

The  purpose  of  Milton,  as  it  seems,  was  to  teach  something  more 
solid  than  the  common  literature  of  schools,  by  reading  those  authors 
that  treat  of  physical  subjects :  such  as  the  Georgick,  and  astronomi- 
cal treatises  of  the  ancients.  This  was  a  scheme  of  improvement 
which  seems  to  have  busied  many  literary  projectors  of  that  age. 
Cowley,  who  had  more  means  than  Milton  of  knowing  what  was 
wanting  to  the  embellishments  of  life,  formed  the  same  plan  of  edu- 
cation in  his  imaginary  college. 

But,  the  truth  is,  that  the  knowledge  of  external  nature,  and  the 
sciences  which  that  knowledge  requires  or  includes,  are  not  the  great 
or  the  frequent  business  of  the  human  mind.  Whether  we  provide 
for  action  or  conversation,  whether  we  wish  to  be  useful  or  pleasing, 
the  first  requisite  is  the  religious  and  moral  knowledge  cf  right  and 
and  wrong ;  the  next  is  an  acquaintance  with  the  history  of  mankind, 
and  with  those  examples  which  may  be  said  to  embody  truth,  and 
prove  by  events  the  reasonableness  of  opinions.  Prudence  and  Jus- 
tice are  virtues  and  excellencies  of  all  times  and  of  all  places  ;  we  are 
perpetually  nioralists,  but  we  are  geometricians  only  bv  chance.  Our 
intercourse  with  intellectual  nature  is  necessary  ;  our  speculations  upon 


152  MILTON  ON  EDUCATION. 

matter  are  voluntary,  and  at  leisure.  Physiological  learning  is  of  such 
rare  emergency  that  one  may  know  another  half  his  life,  without 
being  able  to  estimate  his  skill  in  hydrostatics  or  astronomy  ;  but,  his 
moral  and  prudential  character  immediately  appears. 

Those  authors,  therefore,  are  to  be  read  at  schools  that  supply  most 
axioms  of  prudence,  most  principles  of  moral  truth,  and  most  mate- 
rials for  conversation ;  and,  these  purposes  are  best  served  by  poets, 
orators,  and  historians. 

Let  me  not  be  censured  for  this  digression,  as  pedantic  or  paradoxi- 
cal ;  for,  if  I  iiave  Milton  against  me,  I  have  Socrates  on  my  side.  It 
was  his  labor  to  turn  ])hilosophy  from  the  study  of  nature  to  specula- 
tions upon  life ;  but,  the  innovators  whom  I  oppose  are  turning  off 
attention  from  life  to  nature.  They  seem  to  think  that  we  are  placed 
here  to  watch  the  growth  of  plants,  or  the  motions  of  the  stars.  So- 
crates was  rather  of  opinion  that  what  we  had  to  learn  was,  how  to 
do  good,  and  avoid  evil. 

Ot7»  toi  sv  iJ.syapoKfi  xaxovT  aya&ovs  rsrvxlai. 
y  Of  institutions,  we  may  judge  by  their  effects.  From  this  wonder- 
working academy,  I  do  not  know  that  there  ever  proceeded  any  man 
very  eminent  for  knowledge :  its  only  genuine  product,  I  believe,  is  a 
small  history  of  poetry,  written  in  Latin,  by  his  nephew.  Philips,  of 
which,  perhaps,  none  of  my  readers  has  ever  heard.* 

That  in  his  school,  as  in  every  thing  else  which  he  undertook,  he 
labored  with  great  diligence,  there  is  no  reason  for  doubting.  One 
part  of  his  method  deserves  general  imitation.  He  was  careful  to 
instruct  his  scholars  in  religion.  Every  Sunday  was  spent  upon  the- 
ology ;  of  which  he  dictated  a  short  system,  gathered  from  the 
writers  that  were  then  fashionable  in  the  Dutch  universities. 

He  set  his  jjupils  an  example  of  hard  study  and  spare  diet ;  only 
now  and  then  he  allowed  himself  to  pass  a  day  of  festivity  and 
indulgence  with  some  gay  gentlemen  of  Gray's  Inn." 

To  these  disparaging  remarks  we  add  a  few  sensible  comments,  by 
Rev.  John  Mitford,  in  his  elegantly  written  life,  prefixed  to  Pickering's 
Aldine  edition  of  Milton's  Poetical  Works. 

''The  system  of  education  which  he  adopted  was  deep  and  compre- 
hensive ;    it  promised  to  teach  science  with   language,  or  rather,  to 
make  the  study  of  languages  subservient  to  the  acquisition  of  scien 
tific  knowledge.     Dr.  Johnson  has  severely  censured  this  method  of 
instruction,  but  with  arguments  that  might  not  unsuccessfully  be  met. 

*  We  may  be  sure,  at  least,  that  Dr.  Johnson  had  never  seen  the  book  he  speaks  of;  for  it 
is  entirely  composed  in  English,  though  its  title  begins  with  two  Latin  words,  '■  Theatrum 
?oetarum  ;  or.  a  complete  Collection  of  the  Poets,  &c.,"  a  circumstance  that  probably  misled 
,he  biographer  of  Milton. 


MILTON  ON  EDDCATION.  153 

The  plan  recommended  by  the  authority  of  Milton  seems  to  be  chiefly 
liable  to  objection,  from  being  too  extensive ;  and,  while  it  makes 
authors  of  all  ages  contribute  to  the  development  of  science,  it,  of 
course,  must  reject  that  careful  selection,  which  can  alone  secure  the 
cultivation  of  the  taste.  We  may  also  reply  to  Johnson  that,  although 
all  men  are  not  designed  to  be  astronomers,  or  geometricians,  a 
knowledge  of  the  principles  on  which  the  sciences  are  built,  and  the 
reasonings  by  which  they  are  conducted,  not  only  forms  the  most 
exact  discipline  which  the  mind  can  undergo,  giving  to  it  comprehen- 
sion and  vigor;  but,  is  the  only  solid  basis  on  which  an  investigation 
of  the  laws  of  nature  can  be  conducted,  or  those  arts  improved  that 
tend  to  the  advantage  of  society,  and  the  happiness  of  mankind. 

Johnson  says,  we  are  not  placed  here  to  watch  the  planets,  or  the 
motion  of  the  stars,  but  to  do  good.  But,  good  is  done  in  various 
ways,  according  to  opportunities  offered,  and  abilities  conferred  ;  a 
man  whose  natural  disposition,  or  the  circumstances  of  whose  educa- 
tion lead  to  pursue  astronomical  discoveries,  or  the  sublime  specula- 
tions of  geometry,  is  emphatically  doing  good  to  others,  as  he  is 
extending  the  boundaries  of  knowledge,  and  to  himself,  as  he  is 
directing  the  energies  of  his  mind  to  subjects  of  the  most  exalted 
contemplation." 

Having,  in  the  foregoing  extract  from  Dr.  Johnson,  introduced  an 
ungenerous  fling  of  that  great  but  prejudiced  writer  against  the  pat- 
riotism of  John  Milton,  because,  in  the  absence  of  any  other  oppor- 
tunity of  being  equally  useful  to  the  cause  in  which  his  heart  was 
enlisted,  and  until  he  was  summoned  by  the  parliament  of  England 
and  its  great  Protector,  "  to  address  the  whole  collective  body  of  peo- 
ple, cities,  states,  and  councils  of  the  wise  and  eminent,  through  the 
wide  expanse  of  anxious  and  listening  Europe,"  he  saw  fit  to  employ 
his  great  abilities  in  illustrating,  by  pen  and  example,  the  true  princi- 
ples and  method  of  a  generous  and  thorough  education,  "  the  only 
genuine  source  of  political  and  individual  liberty, — the  only  true  safe- 
guard of  states,"  and  to  defend  the  cause  of  civil  and  religious  freedom 
by  his  publications, — we  will  let  the  great  champion  of  the  common 
wealth  of  England  speak  for  himself,  and  refresh  the  patriotism  of 
our  own  times  by  a  few  of  his  burning  words,  uttered  over  two 
hundred  years  ago  in  his  "  Defensio  Secunda  pro  Populo  Anglicano."' 

"  But  against  this  dark  array  of  long  received  opinions,  superstitions,  obloquy, 
and  fears,  which  some  dread  even  more  than  the  enemy  himself,  the  P>nglish  had 
to  contend  •,  and  all  this  under  the  light  of  better  information,  and  favored  by  an 
impulse  from  above,  they  overcame  with  such  singular  enthusiasm  and  bravery, 
that,  great  as  were  the  numbers  engaged  in  the  contest,  the  grandeur  of  eoncep 
Hon  and  loftiness  of  spirit  which  wire  universally  displayed,  merited  for  each  indi- 
vidual more  than  a  mediocrity  of  fame  ;  and   Britain,  which  was  formerly  styled 


154  MILTON  ON  EDUCATION. 

the  hot  bed  of  tyranny,  will  hereafter  deserve  to  be  celebrated  for  endless  ages,  as 
a  soil  most  genial  to  the  growth  of  liberty.  During  the  mighty  struggle,  no 
anarchy,  no  licentiousness  was  seen  ;  no  illusions  of  glory,  no  extravagant  emula- 
tion ot  the  ancients  inHamed  tiiem  with  a  thirst  lor  ideal  liberty  ;  but  the  recti- 
tude of  their  lives,  and  the  sobriety  of  their  habits,  taught  them  the  only  true  and 
safe  road  to  real  liberty,  and  they  took  up  arms  only  to  defend  the  sanctity  of  the 
laws  and  the  rights  of  conscience. 

Relying  on  the  divine  assistsmce,  they  used  every  honorable  exertion  to  breaK 
the  yoke  of  slavery  ;  of  the  praise  of  which,  though  I  claim  no  sliare  to  myself, 
yet  I  can  eiisily  repel  any  charge  which  may  be  adduced  against  me,  either  of 
want  of  courage  or  want  of  zeal.  For  though  1  did  not  particijiate  in  the  toils  or 
dangers  of  the  war,  yet  I  was  at  the  same  time  engaged  in  a  service  not  less  haz- 
ardous to  myself,  and  more  beneficial  to  my  fellow  citizens,  nor,  in  the  adverse 
turns  of  our  afiairs,  did  I  ever  betray  any  symptoms  of  pusilanimity  and  dejection, 
or  show  myself  more  afraid  than  became  me  of  malice  or  of  death  ;  for  since  from 
my  youth  I  was  devoted  to  the  pursuits  of  litei'ature,  and  my  mind  had  always 
been  stro:;ger  than  my  body,  I  did  not  court  the  labors  of  a  camp,  in  which  any 
common  person  would  have  been  of  more  service  than  myself,  but  resorted  to  that 
employment  in  which  my  exertions  were  likely  to  he  of  most  avail.  Thus,  with 
the  better  part  of  my  frame  I  contributed  as  much  as  possible  to  the  good  of  my 
country,  and  to  the  success  of  the  glorious  cause  in  which  we  were  engaged  ;  and 
I  thought  if  God  willed  the  success  of  such  glorious  achievements,  it  was  equally 
agreeable  to  his  will  that  there  should  be  others  by  whom  those  achievements 
should  be  recorded  with  dignity  and  elegance ;.  and  that  the  truth  which  had  been 
defended  by  arms,  should  also  be  defended  by  reason,  which  is  the  best  and  only 
legitimate  means  of  defending  it.  Hence,  while  I  applaud  those  who  were  victo- 
rious in  the  field.  I  will  not  complain  of  the  province  which  was  assigned  me,  but 
rather  congratulate  myself  upon  it  and  thank  the  Author  of  all  good  for  having 
placed  me  in  a  station  which  may  be  an  object  of  envy  to  others  rather  than  of 
regret  to  myself. 

I  am  far  from  wishing  to  make  any  vain  or  arrogant  comparisons,  or  to  speak 
ostentatiously  of  myself;  but,  in  a  cause  so  great  and  glorious,  and  particularly 
on  an  occasion  when  I  am  called  by  the  general  suffrage  to  defend  the  very 
defenders  of  that  cause,  I  can  hardly  refrain  from  assuming  a  more  lofty  and 
swelling  tone  than  the  simplicity  of  an  exordium  may  seem  to  justify:  and  as 
much  as  I  may  be  surpassed  in  the  powers  of  eloquence  and  copiousness  of  diction, 
by  the  illustrious  orators  of  antiquity,  yet  the  subject  of  which  I  treat  was  never 
surpassed  in  any  age,  in  dignity  or  in  interest.  It  has  excited  such  general  and 
such  ardent  expectation,  that  I  imagine  m3-self  not  in  the  forum  or  on  the  rostra, 
surrounded  only  by  the  people  of  Athens  or  of  Rome,  but  about  to  address  in 
this  as  in  my  former  defence,  the  whole  collective  body  of  people,  cities,  states, 
and  councils  of  the  wise  and  eminent,  through  the  wide  expanse  of  anxious  and 
listening  Europe.  1  seem  to  survey,  as  from  a  towering  height,  the  far  extended 
tracts  of  sea  and  land,  and  innumerable  crowds  of  spectators,  betraying  in  their 
looks  the  liveliest,  and  sensations  the  most  congenial  with  my  own.  Here  I  be- 
hold the  stout  and  manly  prowess  of  the  German,  disdaining  servitude  ;  there  the 
generous  and  lively  impetuosity  of  the  Freneli ;  on  this  side,  the  calm  and  stately 
valor  of  the  Spaniard  ;  on  that,  the  composed  and  wary  magnanimity  of  the 
Italian.  Of  all  the  lovers  of  liberty  and  virtue,  the  magnanimous  and  the  wise, 
in  whatever  quarter  they  may  be  found,  some  secretly  favor,  othesr  openly  ap- 
prove ;  some  gr(>et  me  with  congratulation  and  applause  ;  others  who  had  long 
been  proof  against  conviction,  at  last  yield  themselves  captive  to  the  force  of  truth. 
Surrounded  by  congregated  multitudes,  I  now  imagine  that,  from  the  columns  of 
Hercules  to  the  Indian  Ocean.  I  behold  the  nations  of  the  earth  rtcovei'ing  that 
liberty  which  they  so  long  had  lost ;  and  that  the  people  of  this  island  are  trans- 
porting to  other  countries  a  plant  of  moi'e  beneficial  qualities,  and  more  noble 
growth  than  tliat  which  Triptolemus  is  reported  to  have  carried  from  region  to 
region  ;  that  they  are  disseminating  tJie  blessings  of  civilization  and  freedom 
among  cities,  kingdoms,  and  nations." 

In  further  notice  of  the  charges  against  himself,  and  especially  that 
his  loss  of  sight  was  a  judgment  for  using  his  eyes  in  writing  against 


MILTON  ON  EUUCATION 


155 


tie  divine  rights  of  kings,  and  in  defence  of  the  people  of  England 
for  dethroning  and  beheading  their  monarch,  he  thus  speaks  : 

"  Respecting  ray  blindness  ^  »         *         »         I  must  submit  to  my  afflic- 

tion. It  is  not  so  wretched  to  be  blind,  as  it  is  not  to  be  capable  of  enduring 
blindness.  But  why  should  I  not  endure  a  misfortune  which  it  behooves  every 
one  to  be  prepared  to  endure,  if  it  should  happen;  which  may,  in  the  common 
course  of  things,  happen  to  any  man  ;  and  which  has  been  known  to  hapjien  to 
the  most  distinguished  and  virtuous  persons  in  history.  Shall  1  mention  those 
wise  and  ancient  bards,  whose  misfortunes  the  gods  are  said  to  have  oompjnsated 
by  superior  endowments,  and  whom  men  so  much  revered  that  they  chose 
rather  to  impute  their  want  of  sight  to  the  injustice  of  heaven  than  to  their  own 
want  of  innocence  or  virtue?  [After  citing  the  virtues  of  Tiresia-s,  Timoleon, 
Appius  Claudius,  Mettdlus,  the  incomparable  Doge  Dandolo,  and  the  patriarch 
Isaac — ]  Did  not  our  Saviour  himself  clearly  declare  that  that  poor  man  whom  he 
restored  to  sight  had  not  been  born  blind,  either  on  account  of  his  own  sins,  or 
of  the  sins  of  his  prog  n  tur.s  ?  and  with  respect  to  myself,  though  I  have  accu- 
rately e.xamined  my  conduct,  and  scrutiniztd  my  soul,  I  call  thee,  O  God,  the 
searcher  of  hearts,  to  witness,  that  I  am  not  conscious,  either  in  the  more  early, 
or  in  the  later  pt-riols  of  my  1  t"e,  of  having  eommittel  any  enormity  which  might 
deservedly  have  marked  me  out  ;is  a  tit  object  for  such  calamitous  visitation.  But 
since  my  enemies  boa>t  that  thisafllietion  is  only  a  retribution  for  the  transgressions 
of  my  pen,  I  again  invoke  the  Aim  ghty  to  witness,  that  I  never,  at  any  time,  wrote 
any  thing  which  I  di  1  not  think  agreeable  to  truth,  to  justice  and  to  piety.  This 
was  my  persuasion  then,  and  1  fejl  th^'  same  persuasion  now.  Nor  was  I  pi'ompted 
to  such  exertions  by  the  inriusnce  of  ambition,  by  the  lust  of  lucre  or  of  praise: 
it  vvas  only  the  conviction  of  duty  and  the  feeling  of  patriotism,  a  disinterested 
passion  for  the  extension  of  civil  and  religious  libei'ty. 

Thus,  therefore,  wh-n  I  was  publicly  solicited  to  write  a  reply  to  the  defence  of 
the  royal  cause,  when  I  had  to  contend  with  the  pressure  of  sickness,  and  with 
the  apprehension  of  soon  losing  the  sight  of  my  remaining  eye,  and  when  my  med- 
ical attendants  clearly  announced  that  if  I  did  engage  in  the  work,  it  would  be  irre- 
parably lost,  their  premonitions  caused  no  hesitation  and  inspired  no  dismay.  My 
resolution  was  unshaken,  though  the  alternative  was  the  loss  of  my  sight,  or  the 
desertion  of  duty.  Let,  then,  the  calumniators  of  the  divine  goodness  cease  to 
revile,  or  to  make  me  the  object  of  their  superstitious  imaginations.  Let  them  con- 
sider that  my  situation,  such  as  it  is,  is  neither  the  object  of  my  shame  or  of  my 
regret ;  that  I  am  not  depressed  by  any  sense  of  the  divine  displeasure,  and  that 
in  the  solace  and  the  strength  which  have  been  infused  into  me  from  above,  I 
have  been  able  to  do  the  will  of  God  ;  that  I  oftener  think  on  what  he  hath  be- 
stowed than  on  what  he  hath  withheld,  and  that  in  my  consciousness  of  rectitude 
I  ft-el  a  tre.isured  store  of  tranquility  and  delight. 

But  if  the  choice  were  neces.sary,  I  would  prefer  my  blindness  to  that  of  my 
adversaries  ; — theirs  is  a  cloud  spread  over  the  mind  which  darkens  both  the  light 
of  reason  and  coiscience  ; — mine  keeps  from  my  view  only  the  colored  surfaces 
of  things,  while  it  leaves  me  at  liberty  to  contemplate  the  beauty  and  stability  of 
virtue  and  truth.  There  is,  asthe  apostle  has  remarked,  a  way  to  stirngth  through 
weakness.  Let  me  be  the  most  feeble  creature  alive,  as  long  as  my  feebleness 
seems  to  invigorate  the  energies  of  my  rational  and  immortal  spirit ;  as  long  as  in 
that  obscurity  in  which  I  am  enxeloped,  the  light  of  the  divine  presence  more 
clearly  shines, — then,  in  proportion  as  I  am  weak,  I  shall  be  invincibly  strong; 
and  in  proportion  as  I  am  bliml,  I  shall  more  clearly  see.  O,  that  I  may  be  per- 
fected by  feebleness  and  irradiated  by  obscurity!  And  indeed,  in  my  blindness  I 
enjoy,  in  no  inconsiderable  decree,  the  favor  of  the  Deity,  who  regards  me  with 
more  tenderness  as  I  am  able  to  behold  nothing  but  himself!  Alas  for  him  who 
insults  me,  who  maligns  and  merits  public  execration !  For  the  divine  law  not 
only  shields  me  from  injury,  but  almost  renders  me  too  sacred  to  attack;  not, 
indeed,  so  much  from  the  privation  of  sight,  as  from  the  overshadowing  of  those 
heavenly  wings  which  seem  to  have  occasioned  this  obscurity,  and  which,  when 
occasioned,  he  is  wont  to  illuminate  with  an  interior  light  more  precious  and  more 
pure.  To  this  I  ascribi'  the  more  tender  assiduitiis  of  my  friends,  their  soothing 
attentions,  their  kind  visits,  their  reverential  observances.     Nor  do  persons  of  prin- 


156 


MIl/rO.N   ON   EDUCATION. 


cipal  (list.nc'tinn  sutter  nie  to  be  bereaved  oC  comfort,  wlien  they  see  me  bereavea 
of  t-iglit  amiil  tlie  exertions  which  I  iiia<le,  the  zeal  which  I  showed,  and  the  dan- 
gers whleli  I  run  for  llie  liberty  wiiich  I  love.  Tliey  do  not  strip  me  of  tlie  badge 
of  honor  which  I  have  once  worn  ;  they  do  not  deprive  me  of  the  places  of  publio 
trust  to  which  I  have  been  appointed,  nor  do  they  abridge  my  salaiy  or  emolu- 
ments. Thus,  while  both  Goil  and  man  unite  in  solacing  me  under  the  height  of 
my  affliction,  let  no  one  lament  my  loss  of  sight  in  so  honorable  a  cause  I '" 

After  paving  an  eloquent  tril)ute  of  gratitude  and  praise  to  Crom- 
well, Bradshaw,  Fleetwood,  Lambert,  Desborougli,  Overton,  Whitlocke, 
Lawrence,  and  others  who  distinguished  themselves  and  served  their 
country  by  their  exertions  in  the  senate  and  in  the  field,  Milton  closes 
with  advice  worthy  to  be  held  in  everlasting  remembrance  with  the 
Farevvel'  Address  of  George  Washington. 

"  To  these  men,  whose  talents  are  so  splendid,  and  whose  worth  has  been  so  tho- 
roughly tried,  you  would,  without  doubt,  do  right  to  trust  the  protection  of  our 
liberties  ;  nor  would  it  be  easy  to  saj'  to  whom  they  might  more  safely  be  entrusted. 
Then,  if  you  leave  the  church  to  its  own  government,  and  relieve  youi'self  and  the 
other  public  functionaries  from  a  charge  so  onerous,  and  so  incompatibU-  with  your 
functions;  and  will  no  longer  suftl'r  two  powers,  so  different  as  the  civil  and  the 
ecclesiastical,  to  commit  fornication  together,  and  by  tlieir  mutual  and  delusive 
aids  in  appearance  to  strengthen,  but  in  reality  to  weaken,  and  finally  to  subvert 
each  other;  if  you  shall  remove  all  power  of  persecution  out  of  the  church,  (but, 
persecution  will  never  cease,  so  long  as  men  are  bribed  to  pi'each  the  gospel  by  a 
mercenaiy  salary,  which  is  forcibly  extorted,  ratlier  than  gratuitously  bestowed,, 
which  serves  only  to  poison  religion  and  to  strangle  truth.)  you  will  then  effectu- 
ally have  cast  those  money-changei's  out  of  the  temple,  who  <lo  not  merely  truckle 
with  doves  but  with  the  Dove  itself,  with  the  Spirit  of  the  Most  High.  Then, 
since  there  are  often  in  a  republic  men  who  have  the  same  itch  for  making  a 
multiplicity  of  laws,  as  some  poet;istcrs  have  for  making  many  veises.  and.  since 
laws  are  usually  worse  in  proportion  as  they  are  moi'e  numerous,  if  you  shall  not 
enact  so  many  new  laws  as  you  abolish  old.  which  do  not  operate  so  much  as 
warnings  against  evil,  as  impediments  in  the  way  of  good  ;  and,  if  you  shall 
retain  only  those  which  are  necessary,  which  do  not  confound  the  distinctions  of 
good  and  evil,  which,  while  they  prevent  the  frauds  of  the  wicked,  do  not  prohibit 
the  innocent  freedoms  of  the  good,  which  punish  crimes,  without  interdicting 
those  things  which  ai'e  lavi'iul  only  on  account  of  the  abuses  to  v\'hieh  they  may 
occasionally  be  exposed.  For,  the  intention  of  laws  is  to  check  the  commission  of 
vice ;  but,  liberty  is  the  best  school  of  virtue,  and  affords  the  strongest  encourage- 
ments to  the  practice.  Then,  if  you  make  a  bi-tter  provision  for  the  education  of 
our  youth  than  has  hitherto  been  made,  if  you  prevent  the  promiscuous  instruc- 
tion of  the  docile  and  the  indocile,  of  the  idle  and  the  diligent,  at  the  public  cost,, 
but  reserve  the  rewards  of  learning  for  the  learned,  and  of  merit  for  the  merito- 
rious. If  yop  permit  the  free  discussion  of  truth,  without  any  hazard  to  the 
author,  or  any  subjection  to  the  caprice  of  an  individual,  which  is  the  best  way  to 
make  truth  flourish  ;ind  knowledge  abound,  the  censure  of  the  half-learn<  d,  tlie 
envy,  the  i)usillanimity,  or  the  prejudice  which  measures  the  discoveries  of  others, 
and,  in  short,  every  degree  of  wisdom,  by  the  measure  of  its  own  capacity,  will 
be  prevented  from  doling  out  information  to  us  according  to  their  own  arbitrary 
choice.  Lastly,  if  you  shall  not  dread  to  hear  any  truth,  or  any  falsehood,  what- 
ever it  may  be,  but  if  you  shall  least  of  all  listen  to  those  who  think  that  they  can 
never  be  free  till  the  liberties  of  others  depend  on  their  caprice,  and  who  attempt 
nothing  with  so  much  zeal  and  vehemence  .as  to  fetter,  not  only  the  bodies  but  the 
minds  of  men,  w'ho  laboi'  to  inti-oduce  into  the  state  the  worst  of  all  tyrannies,  the 
tyranny  of  their  own  depraved  habits  and  pernicious  opinions  ;  you  will  always 
be  dear  to  those  who  think  not  merely  that  their  own  sect  or  faction,  but  that  .ill 
Citizens,  of  all  descriptions,  should  c-njoy  equal  rights  and  equal  laws.  If  there 
be  any  one  who  thinks  that  this  is  not  liberty  enough,  he  appears  to  me  to  be 
rather  inflamed  with  the  lust  of  ainliition  or  of  anarchy  than  with  the  love  of  a 
genuine  and  Well-regulated  lib  rty  :   und   particularly,  since  the  circumstances  of 


MILTON  ON  EDUCATION.  I57 

the  country,  which  has  bi-en  so  convulsed  by  the  storms  of  faction,  wliich  are  yei 
hardly  still,  do  not  permit  us  to  adopt  a  more  perfect  or  desirable  form  of  govern- 
ment. 

For,  it  is  of  no  little  consequence,  O  citizens,  by  what  principles  you  are  gov- 
erned, either  ill  acquiring  liberty,  or  in  retaining  it  when  acquired.  And,  unless 
that  liberty,  which  is  of  such  a  kind  as  arms  can  neither  procure  nor  take  away, 
which  alone  is  the  fruit  of  piety,  of  justice,  of  temperauce,  and  unadulterated  vir- 
tue, shall  have  taken  deep  root  in  your  minds  and  hearts,  there  will  not  long  be 
wanting  one  who  will  snatch  from  you  by  treachery  what  you  have  acquired  by 
arms.  War  has  made  many  great  whom  peace  makes  small.  If,  after  being 
releaseii  from  the  toils  of  war,  you  neglect  the  arts  of  peace,  if  your  peace  and 
your  liberty  be  a  state  of  warfare,  if  war  be  your  only  virtue,  the  summit  of  your 
praise,  you  will,  believe  me,  soon  find  peace  the  most  adverse  to  your  interests. 
Tour  peace  will  be  only  a  more  distressing  war;  and,  that  vvhicli  you  imagined 
liberty,  will  prove  the  worst  of  slavery.  Unless,  by  the  means  of  piety,  not 
frothy  and  loquacious,  but  operative,  unadulterated,  and  sincere,  you  clear  the 
liorizon  of  the  mind  from  those  mists  of  superstition  which  arise  from  the  ignor- 
ance of  true  religion,  you  will  always  have  those  who  will  bend  your  necks  to  the 
yoke,  as  if  you  were  brutes,  who,  notwithstanding  all  your  triumphs,  will  put  you 
up  to  the  highest  bidder,  as  if  you  were  mere  booty  made  in  war ;  and,  will  find 
an  exuberant  source  of  wealth  in  your  ignorance  ami  superstition.  Unless  you 
will  subjugate  the  propensity  to  avarice,  to  ambition,  and  sensuality,  and  e.xpel  all 
luxury  from  yourselves  and  from  your  families,  you  will  find  that  you  have  cher- 
ished a  more  stubborn  and  intractable  despot  at  home  than  you  ever  encountered 
in  the  field  :  and,  even  your  very  bowels  will  be  continually  teeming  with  an  in- 
tolerable progeny  of  tyrants.  Let  these  be  the  first  enemies  whom  you  subdue  ; 
this  eon.stitutes  the  campaign  of  peace ;  these  are  triumphs,  diflicult,  indeed,  but 
bloodless ;  and  far  more  honorable  than  those  trophies  which  are  purchased  only 
by  slaughter  and  by  rapine  Unless  you  are  victors  in  this  service,  it  is  in  vain 
that  you  have  been  victorious  over  the  despotic  enemy  in  the  field.  For,  if  you 
think  that  it  is  a  more  grand,  a  more  beneficial,  or  a  more  wise  policy,  to  invent 
subtle  expedients  for  increasing  the  revenue,  to  multiply  our  naval  and  military 
force,  to  rival  in  craft  the  ambassadors  of  foreign  states,  to  form  skillful  treaties 
and  alliances,  than  to  administer  unpolluted  justice  to  the  people,  to  redress  the 
injured,  and  to  succor  the  distressed,  and  speedily  to  restore  to  every  one  his  own, 
you  are  involved  in  a  cloud  of  error;  and.  too  late,  will  you  perceive,  vi'hen  the 
illusion  of  those  mighty  benefits  has  vanished,  that,  in  neglecting  these,  which  you 
now  think  inferior  considerations,  you  have  only  been  precipitating  your  own  ruin 
and  despair.  The  fidelity  of  enemies  and  allies  is  frail  and  perishing,  unless  it  be 
cemented  by  the  principles  of  justice;  that  wealth  and  those  honors,  which  most 
covet,  readily  change  masters;  they  forsake  the  idle,  and  repair  where  virtue, 
where  industry,  where  patience  flourish  most.  Thus  nation  precipitates  the  down- 
fall of  nation  ;  thus,  the  more  sound  part  of  one  people  subverts  the  more  corrupt, 
thus  you  obtained  the  ascemlant  over  the  royalists.  If  you  plunge  into  the  same 
depravity,  if  you  imitate  their  excesses,  and  hanker  after  the  same  vanities,  you  will 
become  royalists  as  well  as  they,  and  I'able  to  be  subdued  by  the  same  enemies,  or 
by  iithers  in  your  turn  ;  who,  placing  their  reliance  on  the  same  religious  princi- 
ples, the  same  patience,  the  same  integrity  and  discretion  which  made  you  strong, 
will  deservedly  triumph  over  you  who  are  immersed  in  debauchery,  in  the  luxury 
and  the  s'oth  of  kings.  Tlien,  as  if  God  was  weary  of  protecting  you,  you  will 
b"  seen  to  have  ])assed  through  the  fire,  that  you  might  perish  in  the  smoke ;  tlie 
contempt  which  you  will  then  experience  will  be  great  as  the  admiration  which 
you  now  enjoy  ;  and,  what  may  in  future  profit  others,  but  can  not  benefit  your- 
selves, you  will  leave  a  salutary  proof  what  great  things  the  solid  reality  of  virtue 
and  of  piety  might  have  efTected,  when  the  mere  counterfeit  and  varnished  resem- 
blance could  attempt  such  mighty  achievements,  and  make  such  considerable 
advances  towards  the  execution.  For,  if  either,  through  your  want  of  knowledge, 
your  want  of  constancy,  or  your  want  of  virtue,  attempts  so  noble,  and  actions  so 
glorious,  have  had  an  issue  so  unfortunate,  it  does  not,  therefore,  follow,  that 
better  men  should  be  either  less  daring  in  their  projects  or  less  sanguine  in  their 
hopes.  But,  from  such  an  abyss  of  corruption  into  which  you  so  readily  fall,  no 
one,  not  even  Cromwell  himself,  nor  a  whole  nation  of  Brutufes,  if  they  were 
alive,  could  deliver  you  if  they  would,  or  would  deliver  you  if  tl  ey  could.     For, 


158  MILTON  ON  EDUCATION. 

who  would  vindicate  your  right  of  unrestrained  suffnige,  or  of  choosing  what 
representiitivt's  you  liked  best,  merely  that  you  iiiicrht  elect  the  creatures  of  your 
own  faction,  whoever  they  minrht  be,  or  him,  however  siuaii  mitrht  be  his  worthy 
who  would  give  you  the  most  lavish  feasts,  and  enable  you  to  drink  to  the  greatest 
excess  ?  Thus,  not  wisdom  and  authority,  but  turbulence  and  gluttony,  would 
soon  exalt  the  vilest  miscreants  from  our  taverns  and  our  brothels,  from  our  towns 
and  villages,  to  the  rank  and  dignity  of  senators.  For,  should  the  manaixement 
of  the  republic  be  entrusted  to  persons  to  whom  no  one  would  willinglv  entrust 
the  management  of  his  private  concerns  ;  and  tlie  treasury  of  the  state  lie  left  to 
the  care  of  those  who  had  lavished  their  own  fortunes  in  an  infamous  prodigality  ? 
Should  they  have  the  charge  of  the  public  purse,  which  they  would  soon  convert 
into  a  private,  by  their  unprincipled  peculations?  Are  they  fit  to  be  the  legisla- 
tors of  a  whole  people  who  themselves  know  not  what  law,  what  reason, ^vhat 
right  and  wrong,  what  crooked  and  straight,  what  licit  and  illicit  means  ?  who 
think  that  all  power  consists  in  outrage,  all  dignity  in  the  parade  of  insolence? 
who  neglect  every  other  consideration  for  the  corrupt  gratification  of  their  friend- 
ships, or  the  prosecution  of  their  i-esentments  ?  who  disperse  their  own  relations 
and  creatures  through  the  provinces,  for  the  sake  of  levying  taxes  and  conti.«cal- 
ing  goods;  men,  for  the  greater  part,  the  most  profligate  and  vile,  who  buy  up  for 
themselves  what  they  pretend  to  expose  to  sale,  who  thence  collect  an  exhorbitant 
mass  of  wealth,  which  they  fraudulently  divert  from  the  public  service:  who  thus 
spread  their  pillage  through  the  country,  and,  in  a  moment  emerge  fiom  penury 
and  rags  to  a  state  of  splendor  and  of  wealth  ?  Who  could  endure  such  tliievisji 
servants,  such  vicegerents  of  their  lords?  Who  could  believe  that  the  masters 
and  the  patrons  of  a  banditti  could  be  the  proper  guardians  of  liberty  .'  or,  wlio 
would  suppose  that  he  should  ever  be  made  one  hair  more  free  by  such  a  set  of 
public  functionaries,  (though  they  might  amount  to  five  hundred  elected  in  tliis 
manner  from  the  counties  and  boroughs,)  when  among  them  who  are  the  very 
guardians  of  lib(  rty,  and  to  whose  custody  it  is  committed,  there  must  be  so  many 
who  know  not  either  how  to  use  or  to  enjoy  liberty,  who  neither  understand  the 
principles  nor  merit  the  possession  ?  But,  wliat  is  worthy  of  remark,  those  who 
are  the  most  unwortl)y  of  liberty  are  wont  to  behave  most  ungratefully  toward 
their  deliverers.  Among  such  persons,  who  would  be  willing  either  to  ficjht  for 
liberty,  or  to  encounter  the  least  peril  in  its  defence?  It  is  not  agreeable  to  the 
nature  of  things  that  such  persons  ever  should  be  free.  However  much  they  may 
brawl  about  liberty,  they  are  slaves,  both  at  home  and  abroad,  but  without  per- 
ceiving it ;  and,  when  they  do  perceive  it,  like  unruly  horses  that  arc  impatient  of 
the  bit,  they  will  endeavor  to  throw  off  the  yoke,  not  from  tlie  love  of  ffenuine 
liberty,  (which  a  gf)od  man  only  loves,  and  knows  how  to  obtain,)  but  from  the 
impulses  of  pride  ami  little  passions.  But,  thoutrh  they  often  attempt  it  by  arms, 
they  will  make  no  advanets  to  the  execution  ;  they  may  change  their  masters,  but 
will  never  be  able  to  get  rid  of  their  survitude.  This  often  happened  to  the 
ancient  Romans,  wasted  by  excess,  and  enervated  by  luxury  :  and,  it  has  still  more 
so  been  the  fate  of  the  moderns;  when,  after  a  long  interval  of  years,  they 
aspired,  under  the  auspices  of  Crescentius.  Nomentanus,  and,  af'erwards,  of  Ni- 
colas Rentius,  who  had  assumed  the  title  of  Tribune  of  the  People,  to  restore  the 
splendor  and  reestablish  the  government  of  ancient  Rome.  For,  instead  of  fret- 
ting with  vexation,  oi'  thinking  that  you  can  lay  the  blaiiic  on  any  one  but  your- 
selves, know  that  to  be  free  is  the  same  thing  as  to  be  pious,  to  be  wise,  to  be 
temperate  and  just,  to  be  frugal  and  abstinent,  and.  lastly,  to  be  magnanimous  and 
brave ;  so,  to  be  the  opposite  of  all  these  is  the  same  as  to  be  a  sl.ive  ;  and.  it  usu- 
ally happens,  by  the  appointment  and,  as  it  were,  retributive  justice  of  the  Deity, 
tliat  that  people  which  cannot  govern  themselves,  and  moderate  their  ])assions, 
but  crouch  under  the  slavery  of  their  lusts,  should  be  delivered  up  to  the  sway  of 
those  whom  they  abhor,  and  made  to  submit  to  an  involuntary  servitude.  It  is 
also  .sanctioned  by  the  diet;ites  of  justice  and  by  the  constitution  of  nature,  that 
he  who,  from  the  imbecility  or  derangement  of  his  intellect,  is  incapable  of  gov- 
erning himself,  sliould,  like  a  minor,  be  committed  to  the  government  of  another ; 
and,  least  of  all,  should  lie  be  appointed  to  superintend  the  affairs  of  others  or  the 
interest  of  the  state. 

You,  therefore,  who  wish  to  remain  free,  either  instantly  be  wise,  or,  as  soon 
as  possible,  cease  to  be  fools ;  if  you  think  slavery  an  intolerable  evil,  learn  obedi- 
ence to  reason  and  the  government  of  yourselves;  and,  finally,  bid  adieu  to  your 


MILTON  ON  EDUCATION  -j^g 

dissensions,  your  jealousies,  your  superstitions,  your  outrages,  your  rapine,  and 
your  lusts.  Unless  you  will  spare  no  pains  to  effect  this,  you  must  be  judged  unfit 
both  by  God  and  mankind,  t(j  be  entrusted  with  the  possession  of  liberty  and  the 
administration  of  the  government ;  but,  will  rather,  like  a  nation  in  a  state  of 
pupilage,  want  some  active  and  courageous  guardian  to  undertake  the  management 
of  your  affairs.  With  respect  to  myself,  whatever  turn  things  may  take,  I  thought 
that  my  exertions  on  the  present  occasion  would  be  serviceaiile  to  my  country  ; 
and,  as  they  have  been  cheerfully  bi'stowed,  I  hope  that  they  have  not  been 
bestowed  in  vain.  And,  I  have  not  circumscribed  my  defence  of  liberty  within 
any  petty  circle  around  me,  but  have  made  it  so  genei-al  and  comprehensive,  that 
the  justice  and  the  reasonableness  of  such  uncommon  occurrences,  explained  and 
defended,  both  among  my  countrymen  and  amonor  foreigners,  and  which  all  good 
men  can  not  but  approve,  may  serve  to  exalt  the  glory  of  my  country,  and  to  excite 
the  imitation  of  posterity.  If  the  conclusion  do  not  answer  to  the  beginning,  that 
is  their  concern ;  I  have  delivered  my  testimony,  I  would  almost  say,  have 
erected  a  monument  that  will  not  readily  be  destroyed,  to  the  reality  of  those 
singular  and  mighty  achievements  which  were  above  all  praise.  As  the  epic  poet, 
who  adheres  at  all  to  the  rules  of  that  species  of  composition,  does  not  profess  to 
describe  the  whole  life  of  the  hero  whom  he  celebrates,  but  only  some  particular 
action  of  his  life,  as  the  resentment  of  Achilles  at  Troy,  the  return  of  Ulysses,  or 
the  coming  of  ^neas  into  Italy ;  so  it  will  be  sufficient,  either  for  my  justification 
or  apology,  that  I  have  heroically  celebrated  at  least  one  exploit  of  my  country- 
men ;  I  pa.ss  by  the  rest,  for  who  could  recite  the  achievements  of  a  whole  people  ? 
If,  after  such  a  display  of  courage  and  of  vigor,  you  basely  relinquish  the  path  of 
virtue,  if  you  do  anything  unworthy  of  yourselves,  posterity  will  sit  in  judgment 
on  your  conduct.  They  will  see  that  the  foundations  were  well  laid ;  that  the 
beginning  (nay,  it  was  more  than  a  beginning)  was  glorious;  but,  with  deep 
emotions  of  concern,  will  they  regret,  that  those  were  wanting  who  might  have 
completed  the  structure.  They  will  lament  that  perseverance  was  not  conjoined 
with  such  exertions  and  such  virtues.  They  will  see  that  thei'e  was  a  rich  harvest 
of  glory,  and  an  opportunity  afforded  for  the  greatest  achievements,  but  that  men 
only  were  wanting  for  the  execution  ;  while  they  were  not  wanting,  who  could 
rightly  counsel,  exhort,  inspire,  and  bind  an  unfading  wreath  of  praise  round  the 
brows  of  the  illustrious  actors  in  so  glorious  a  scene." 

After  reading  these  noble  sentiments,  we  feel,  with  Wadsworth,  that 

not  only  England,  but  our  country,  and  the  World  hath  need  of  just 

such  men  at  this  crisis  of  affairs. 

Milton  !  thou  should'st  be  living  at  this  hour : 
The  world  hath  need  of  thee. 

*         *         *         *         We  are  selfish  men : 

Oh  !  raise  us  up,  return  to  us  again  ; 

And  give  us  maimers,  virtue,  freedom,  powen". 

Thy  soul  was  like  a  star,  and  dwelt  apart : 

Thou  hadst  a  voice  whose  sound  was  like  the  sea : 

Pure  as  the  naked  heavens,  majestic,  free. 

So  didst  thou  travel  on  life's  common  way, 

In  cheerful  godliness  ;  and  yet,  thy  heart 

The  lowliest  duties  on  herself  did  lay. 

We  pass  now  to  Milton's  Tractate  on  Education,  to  which  we  have 
prepared  brief  Notes,  referred  to  [1-72]  in  the  text,  which  will  be 
published  in  a  subsequent  article. 


MILTON'S  SCHOOLS  AND  EDUCATION. 

[From  Masson's  '■  Life  and  Times  of  John  Milton."]* 


HOME  EDUCATION   OF  MILTON. 

More  important  in  his  case  than  contact  with  the  world  of  city  sights  and 
city  humors  lying  around  the  home  of  his  childhood,  was  the  training  lie  re- 
cei\red  within  that  home  itself.  It  is  a  warm  and  happy  home.  Peace,  comfort 
and  industry  reign  within  it.  During  the  day  the  scrivener  is  busy  with  his 
apprentices  and  clerks ;  but  in  tlie  evening  the  family  are  gathered  together — 
the  father  ou  one  side,  the  mother  on  the  other,  the  eldest  girl  and  her  brother 
John  seated  near,  and  little  Kit  lying  on  the  hearth.  A  grave  puritanic  piety 
was  then  the  order  in  the  households  of  most  of  the  respectable  citizens  of  Lon- 
d&ii ;  and  in  John  Milton's  home  there  was  more  than  usual  of  the  accompany- 
ing affection  for  puritanic  habits  and  modes  of  thought.  Religious  reading  and 
devout  exercises  would  be  part  of  the  regular  life  of  the  family.  And  thus  a 
disposition  towards  the  serious,  a  regard  for  religion  as  the  chief  concern  of  life, 
and  a  dutiful  love  of  the  parents  who  so  taught  him,  would  be  cultivated  in 
kilton  from  his  earliest  years.  Happy  child,  to  have  such  parents;  happy 
parents,  to  have  such  a  child  1 

But  the  scrivener,  though  a  serious  man,  was  also  a  man  of  liberal  culture. 
■  He  was  an  ingeniose  man,"  says  Aubrey;  and  Phillips,  who  could  recollect 
aim  personally,  says  that  while  prudent  in  business,  "  he  did  not  so  far  quit  his 
generous  and  ingenious  inclinations  as  to  make  himself  wholly  a  slave  to  the 
world."  His  acquaintance  with  literature  was  that  of  a  man  who  had  been 
sometune  at  college.  But  his  special  faculty  was  music.  He  had  so  cultivated 
the  art  as  to  acquire  in  it  a  reputation  above  that  of  an  ordinary  amateur.  He 
was  a  contributor  with  twenty-one  of  the  first  English  composers  then  hving,  in 
a  collection  of  madrigals  published  under  the  title  of  "TAe  Triumphs  of  Oriana," 
all  originally  intended  to  be  sung  at  an  entertainment  in  complunent  to  Queen 
Elizabeth.  His  name  also  appears  in  "  The  Whole  Book  of  Psalms,'"  1621,  and 
"  Tlie  Tears  and  Lamentations  of  a  Sorrowfull  Soule,'^  1614.  An  organ  and 
other  instruments  were  part  of  the  furniture  in  the  house  in  Bread  Street,  and 
much  of  his  spare  time  was  given  to  musical  study  and  practice.  Hence  wo 
can  readily  understand  the  high  place  given  by  Milton  to  music  in  his  "Tractate 
on  Education."  The  intervals  of  more  severe  labor,  he  said,  might  "  both  with 
profit  and  delight  be  taken  up  in  recreating  and  composing  their  travailed  spirits 
with  the  solemn  and  divine  harmonies  of  music,  heard  or  learnt — either  while 
the  skillful  organist  plies  his  grave  and  fancied  descant  in  lofty  fiigues,  or  the 
whole  symphony  with  artful  and  unimaginable  touches  adorn  and  grace  the 
well-studied  chords  of  some  choice  composer;  sometimes  the  lute  or  soft  organ- 
etop  waiting  on  elegant  voices,  either  to  religious,  martial,  or  civil  ditties,  which, 


*  Vol.  1.  pp.  0')  .    Republished  by  Gould  &  Lincoln. 


JOHN  Mi..iON  IGl 

if  wise  men  and  prophets  be  not  extremely  out,  have  a  great  power  over  disposi- 
■t'oCiS  and  manners  to  smooth  and  make  tlieni  gentle."  Of  this  kind  of  educa 
tion  Jlilton  had  the  full  advantage.  Often  must  he,  as  a  child,  have  bent 
over  his  father  while  composing,  or  listened  to  him  as  he  played.  Not  unfre- 
queutly  of  an  evening,  if  one  or  two  of  his  father's  musical  acquaintances 
dropped  in,  there  would  be  voices  enough  in  the  Spread-Eagle  for  a  little 
household  concert.  Then  might  the  well-printed  and  well-kept  set  of  the 
Orianas  be  brought  out;  and,  each  one  present  taking  a  suitable  part,  the  chiW 
might  hear,  and  always  with  fresh  delight,  his  father's  own  madrigal  •  - 

Fair  Oriaiia,  in  the  morn. 

Before  tlie  clay  was  born, 

With  velvet  steps  on  ground, 

Which  made  nor  jirint'nor  sound, 

Would  see  her  nymphs  abed, 

What  hves  those  ladies  led  : 

The  roses  blushing  said, 
"O,  stay,  thou  shepherd-maid  !" 

And,  on  a  sudden,  all 

They  rose,  and  heard  her  call. 

Then  sang  those  shepherds  and  nymphs  ot  Uiana, 
"  Long  live  fair  Oriana,  long  live  fair  Oriana  !" 

They  can  remember  little  how  a  child  is  aflecied  who  do  not  see  how  from  the 
words,  as  well  as  from  the  music  of  this  song,  a  sense  of  fantastic  grace  would 
sink  into  the  mind  of  the  boy — how  Oriana  and  her  nymphs  and  a  little  Arca- 
dian grass-piat  would  be  before  him,  and  a  chorus  of  shepherds  would  be  seen 
singing  at  the  close,  and  yet,  somehow  or  other,  it  was  all  about  Queen  Eliza- 
beth 1  And  so,  if,  instead  of  the  book  of  Madrigals,  it  was  the  thin,  large  vol- 
ume of- Sir  William  Leighton's  '^  Tears  and  Lamentations"  that  furnished  the 
song  of  the  evening. 

Joining  with  his  young  voice  in  these  exercises  of  the  family,  the  boy  became 
a  singer  almost  as  soon  as  he  could  speak.  "We  see  him  going  to  the  organ  for 
his  owD  amusement,  picking  out  little  melodies  by  the  ear,  and  stretching  his 
tiny  fingers  iu  search  of  pleasing  chords.  According  to  Aubrey,  his  father 
taught  him  music,  and  made  him  an  accomplished  organist. 

But,  in  the  most  musical  household,  music  fills  up  but  part  of  the  domestic 
evening;  and  sometimes  it  would  not  be  musical  friends,  but  acquaintances  of 
more  general  tastes,  that  would  step  in  to  spend  an  hour  or  two  in  the  Spread- 
Eagle. 

Among  the  friends  of  the  famUy  were  the  Rev.  Richard  Stocke,  the  min- 
ister of  the  parish  of  Allhallows,  Bread-street,  "  a  constant,  judicious,  and  reli- 
gious preacher;"  Humphrey  Lownes,  a  printer  and  publisher;  and  John  Lane, 
the  author  of  ^^ Poetical  Vision,"  and  continuation  of  the  ^^ Squire^ s  Tale"  in 
Chaucer,  thus  finishing  that  "story  of  Cambuscau  bold,"  which,  the  son  after- 
wards noted,  had  been  left  "  half-told  "  by  the  great  original.  In  the  conversa- 
tion of  such  men,  Milton's  boyhood  had  educational  stimulus  and  food  of  the 
best  quality. 

MILTON'S  BOOK  AND   SCHOOL  TRAINING. 

Writing  in  1641,  while  his  father  was  still  alive,  Milton  describes  his  early 
scholastic  education  in  these  words: — "I  had,  from  my  first  years,  by  tlio 
<ieas"less  diligence  and  care  of  my  father,  (whom  God  recompense)  been  exer- 


562  JOHN  Mll.Tui^. 

cLsed  to  the  tougues  and  some  sciences,  as  my  age  would  suffer,  by  sundry 
masters  and  teachers  both  at  home  and  the  schools."  And  again,'  in  another 
publication  after  his  father  was  dead: — -'My  father  destined  me,  while  yet  a 
little  child,  for  the  study  of  humane  letters.  *  *  *  Both  at  the 
grammar-school  and  under  other  masters  at  home  he  caused  me  to  be  instructed 
daily." 

PRIVATE    TEACHERS. 

The  only  teacher  of  Milton  of  whom  we  have  a  distmct  account  from  him- 
self, as  one  of  his  masters  before  he  went  to  a  regular  grammar-school,  or  who 
taught  him  privately  while  he  was  attending  such  a  school,  was  Thomas 
Young,  afterwards  a  Puritan  minister  in  Suffolk,  and  well  known  in  his  later 
life  as  a  prominent  divine  of  the  Puritan  party. 

He  was  a  Scotchman  by  birth.  In  one  of  his  subsequent  publications,  at  a 
time  when  it  was  not  convenient  for  a  Puritan  minister  of  Suffolk  to  announce 
his  name  in  full,  he  signed  himself  "  Theophilus  Philo-Kuriaces  Loncardiensis^'' 
which  may  be  translated  "  Theophilus  Kirklover,  native  of  Loncardy,"  where  he 
was  bom  in  1587.  He  was  sent  thence  to  the  University  of  St.  Andrews, 
where  his  name  is  found  among  the  matriculations  at  St.  Leonard's  College  in 
1602.  After  completing  his  education  in  Arts  there,  and  probably  also  becom- 
ing a  licenciate  of  the  Scottish  Kirk,  he  migrated  into  England  in  quest  of  occu- 
pation— about  the  very  time,  it  would  seem,  when  the.  efforts  of  King  James  to 
establish  Episcopacy  in  Scotland  were  causing  commotion  among  the  Scottish 
Kirkmen.  He  settled  in  or  near  London,  amd  appears  to  have  supported  him- 
self partly  by  assisting  Puritan  ministers,  and  partly  by  teaching. 

From  Young's  subsequent  career,  and  from  the  unusually  affectionate  man- 
ner in  which  Milton  afterwards  speaks  of  him,  it  is  clear  that  however  his  gait 
and  accent  may  have  at  first  astonished  Mrs.  Milton,  he  was  a  man  of  many 
good  qualities.  The  poet,  writing  to  him  a  few  years  after  he  had  ceased  to  be 
bis  pupil,  speaks  of  the  "  incredible  and  singular  gratitude  he  owed  him  on 
account  of  the  services  he  had  done  him,"  and  calls  God  to  witness  that  he 
reverenced  him  as  a  father.  And,  again,  more  floridly  in  a  Latin  elegy,  in 
words  which  may  be  translated  thus: — 

"  Dearer  he  to  me  than  thou,  most  learned  of  the  Greeks  (Socrates)  to  Olini- 
ades  (Alcibiades)  who  was  the  descendant  of  Telamon ;  and  than  tlie  great 
Stagirite  to  his  generous  pupil  (Alexander  the  Great)  whom  the  loving  Chaonis 
bore  to  Libyan  Jove.  Such  as  Amyntorides  (Phoenix)  and  the  Philyreian  hero 
(Chiron)  were  to  the  king  of  the  Myrmidones  (Achilles,  the  pupil,  according  to 
the  legend,  of  Phoenix  and  Chiron,)  such  is  he  also  to  me.  First,  under  his 
guidance,  I  explored  the  recesses  of  tlie  Muses,  and  beheld  the  sacred  green 
spots  of  the  cleft  summit  of  Parnassus,  and  quaffed  the  Pierian  cups,  and,  Clio 
favoring  me,  thrice  sprinkled  my  joyful  mouth  with  Castalian  wine." 

The  meaning  of  which,  in  more  literal  prose,  is  that  Young  grounded  his 
pupil  well  in  Latin,  gave  him  perhaps  also  a  little  Greek,  and  at  the  same  time 
awoke  in  him  a  feeling  for  poetry,  and  set  him  upon  the  making  of  English  and 
Latin  verses. 

How  long  Young's  preceptorship  lasted,  can  not  be  determined  with  precision. 
It  certainly  closed  about  1622,  when  Young  left  England  at  the  age  of  thirtj 
five,  and  became  pastor  of  the  oongreg.it'on  of  English  merchant-;   settled  'u 
Hamburg. 


oOHN  MILTON.  1(5^ 

MILTON  AT  SI'  Paul's  school. 

Fiom  the  first  it  had  been  the  inteution  of  Milton's  father  to  send  his  sou  to 
one  of  the  public  schools  in  town,  and  before  1620  this  intention  had  been  car- 
ried into  effect. 

London  was  at  that  time  by  no  means  ill  provided  with  schools.  Besides 
various  schools  of  minor  note,  there  were^  some  distinguished  as  classical  sem- 
inaries. Notable  among  these  was  St.  Paul's  School  in  St.  Paul's  Churchyard, 
a  successor  of  the  old  Cathedral  School  of  St.  Paul's,  which  had  existed  in  the 
same  place  from  time  immemorial.  Not  less  celebrated  was  Westminster  School, 
founded  anew  by  Elizabeth  in  continuation  of  an  older  monastic  school  which 
had  existed  in  Catholic  times.  Ben  Jonson,  George  Herbert,  and  Giles  Fletcher, 
all  then  alive,  had  been  educated  at  this  school ;  and  the  great  Camden,  alter 
serving  in  it  as  under-master,  had  held  the  office  of  head-master  since  1592. 
Then  there  was  St.  Anthony's  free  school  in  Threadneedle  street,  where  Sir 
Thomas  More  and  Archbishop  Whitgift  had  been  educated — once  so  flourishing 
that  at  the  public  debates  in  logic  and  grammar  between  the  different  schools 
of  the  city,  St.  Anthony's  scholars  generally  carried  off  the  palm.  In  partic- 
ular there  was  a  feud  on  this  score  between  the  St.  Paul's  boys  and  the  St. 
Anthony's  boys — the  St.  Paul's  bo3'S  nicknaming  their  rivals  "Anthony's  pigs," 
in  allusion  to  the  pig  which  was  generally  represented  as  following  this  Saint  in 
his  pictures;  and  the  St.  Anthony's  boys  somewhat  feebly  retaliating  by  calling 
the  St.  Paul's  boys  "Paul's  pigeons,"  in  allusion  to  the  pigeous  that  used  to 
hover  about  the  cathedral.  Though  the  nicknames  survived,  the  feud  was  now 
little  more  than  a  tradition — St.  Anthony's  school  having  come  sorely  down  in 
the  world,  while  the  pigeons  of  Paul's  fluttered  higher  than  ever.  A  more 
formidable  rival  in  the  city  now  to  St.  Paul's,  was  the  free-school  of  the  Mer- 
chant Tailors'  Company,  founded  in  1561.  Finally,  besides  these  public  day 
schools,  there  were  schools  of  note  kept  by  speculative  schoolmasters  on  their 
own  account;  of  which  by  far  the  highest  in  reputation  was  that  of  Thomas 
Farnabie,  in  Goldsmith's  Rents,  near  Cripplegate. 

Partly  on  account  of  its  nearness  to  Biead-street.  St.  Paul's  school  was  that, 
chosen  by  the  scrivener  for  the  education  of  his  sou,  when  he  was  in  or  just. 
over  his  twelfth  yeai-.* 

There  were  in  all  eight  classes.  In  the  hr.st  or  lowest  the  younger  pupils- 
were  taught  their  rudiments ;  and  thence,  according  to  their  proflcieucy,  they 
were  at  stated  times  advanced  into  the  other  forms  till  they  reached  the  eighth, 
whence,  "being  commonly  by  this  time  made  perfect  grammarians,  good  ora- 
tors and  poets,  and  well  instructed  in  Latin,  Greek  and  Hebrew,  and  sometimes 
in  other  Oriental  tongues,"  they  passed  to  the  Universities.  The  curriculum 
of  the  school  extended  over  from  tour  to  six  years,  the  age  of  entry  being  from 
eight  to  twelve,  and  that  of  departure  from  fourteeen  to  eighteen. f 


*  A  description  of  St.  Paul't-  School  will  be  found  on  pages  141-142. 

t  For  the  account  of  St.  Paul's  School  given  in  the  text,  the  authorities  are,— Slow.  edit. 
1003,  pp.  74,  75 ;  Fuller,  Cliurch  History,  Book  V  ,  Section  1  ;  Mr.  Cunningham,  in  his  Hand 
book  of  London,  article  •' Fuul's  School,"  and,  mo.-^I  of  all.  Strype  in  his  edition  of  Slow, 
1720.  vol.  I.  pp.  163—169.  Sirype  was  himself  a  scholar  of  St.  Paul's  from  1657  to  1C61,  or 
about  thirty-seven  years  after  Milton.  The  original  school  was  destroyed  in  the  great  tire  of 
1666;  but  Strype  remeinbii-Kl  llit  nM  huildiiii:  well,  and  his  de-scrijilion  of  il  is  aflVctionately 
minute. 


164  JOHN  MILTON. 

From  the  moment  that  Milton  became  a  "  pigeon  of  St.  Paul's,"  all  this  would 
be  familiar  to  him.  The  school-room,  its  walls  and  windows  and  inscriptions ; 
the  head-master's  chair ;  the  bust  of  Colet  over  it,  looking  down  on  the  busy 
young  flock  gathered  together  by  his  deed  and  scheming  a  hundred  years  after 
he  was  dead;  the  busy  young  flock  itself,  ranged  out  in  their  eight  forms,  and 
filling  the  room  with  their  ceaseless  hum;  the  head-master  and  the  sur-masler 
walking  about  in  their  gowns,  and  occasionally  perhaps  the  two  surveyors  from 
the  Mercers  dropping  in  to  see — what  man  of  any  memory  is  there  who  does 
not  know  that  this  would  impress  the  boy  unspeakably,  and  sink  into  him  so  as 
never  to  be  forgotten?  For  inquisitive  boys,  even  the  traditions  of  their  school, 
if  it  has  any,  are  of  interest;  and  they  soon  become  acquainted  with  them. 
And  so  in  Milton's  case,  the  names  of  old  pupils  of  St.  Paul's  who  had  become 
famous,  from  Leland  down  to  the  still-living  prodigj'  Camden,  who  (though  he 
had  been  mainly  educated  elsewhere,  had  also  for  a  time  been  a  St.  Paul's 
scholar)  would  be  dwelt  on  with  pleasure ;  and  gradually  also  the  names  of  the 
head-masters  before  Mr.  Gill  would  come  to  be  known  in  order,  from  Richard 
Mulcaster,  Gill's  immediate  predecessor,  back  through  Harrison,  Malim,  Cook, 
Freeman,  and  Jones,  to  John  Rightwis,  Lilly's  successor  and  son-in-law,  who 
had  acted  in  a  Latin  play  with  his  scholars  before  Wolsey,  and  so  to  Lilly  him- 
self, the  great  Abraham  of  the  series,  and  the  friend  of  Colet. 

After  all,  however,  the  paramount  influence  of  the  school  lay  necessarily  m 
the  character  and  qualifications  of  the  two  masters  for  the  time  being.  These, 
at  the  time  with  which  we  are  concerned,  were  Mr.  Gill,  the  head-master,  and 
liis  son,  Alexander  Gill,  the  younger,  then  acting  as  usher. 

Old  Mr.  Gill,  as  he  now  began  to  be  called,  partly  to  distinguish  him  from  his 
son,  and  partly  because  he  was  verging  on  his  fifty-seventh  year,  fully  main- 
tained the  ancient  credit  of  the  school.  According  to  Wood,  he  was  "  esteemed 
hy  most  persons  to  be  a  learned  man,  a  noted  Latinist,  critic  and  divine,  and 
Also  to  have  such  an  excellent  way  of  training  up  youth  that  none  in  his  time 
went  beyond  it."  Having  looked  over  all  that  remains  of  the  old  gentleman 
♦  o  verify  or  disprove  this  judgment — to  wit,  three  works  published  by  him  at 
intervals  during  his  life — we  can  safely  say  that  the  praise  does  not  seem  over- 
stated. Th^  first  of  these  works  is  a  tract  or  treatise,  originally  published  by 
him  in  1601,  seven  years  before  his  appointment  to  St.  Paul's  School,  and  writ- 
ten in  1597,  when  he  was  living  as  a  teacher  at  Norwich.  The  tract  is  entitled 
"A  Treatise  concerning  the  Trinity  of  .Persons  in  Unitie  of  the  Deitie"  and  is  in 
the  form  of  a  metaphysical  remonstrance  with  one  Thomas  Mannering,  an  Ana- 
baptist of  Norwich,  who  "denied  that  Jesus  is  very  God  of  very  God,"  but  said 
that  he  was  "  but  man  only,  yet  endued  with  the  infinite  pOwer  of  God."  Far 
-more  interesting,  in  reference  to  Gill's  qualifications  as  a  teacher,  is  his  next 
work,  the  first  edition  of  which  was  published  in  1619,  or  just  before  the  time 
with  which  we  have  to  do.  It  is  entitled  ^^  Logonomia  Anglica,"  and  is  dedi- 
cated to  King  James.  Part  of  the  work  is  taken  up  with  an  argument  on  that 
new-old  subject,  the  reform  of  the  English  Alphabet,  so  as  to  bring  the  spelling 
of  words  into  greater  consistency  with  their  sound;  and  those  who  are  inter- 
ested in  this  subject  will  find  some  sensible  matter  upon  it  in  Gill's  book.  By 
adding  to  the  English  Alphabet  the  two  Saxon  signs  for  the  two  sounds  of  tk, 
and  another  Saxon  sign  or  two,  and  by  farther  using  points  over  the  vowels  to 
indicate  their  various  sounds,  he  contrives  an  Alphabet  somewhat  like  those  of 


JOHN  MILTON.  165 

our  modem  phonetic  reformers,  but  less  liable  to  objection  from  the  point  of  view 
of  Etymology ;  and  he  Dlustrates  this  xVlphabet  by  spelling  all  the  English  words 
and  passages  in  his  book  according  to  it.  But  the  Spelling- Reform  is  by  no 
means  the  main  purpose  of  the  book.  It  is,  in  fact,  what  we  should  now  call  a 
systematic  grammar  of  the  English  tongue,  written  in  Latin.  Accordingly  it  is 
only  in  the  tirst  part  that  he  propounds  his  spelling-reform ;  and  the  parts  on 
Etymology,  Syntax,  and  Prosody,  possess  quite  a  separate  value.  If  Gill  was 
only  half  as  interesting  in  his  school-room  as  he  is  in  his  book,  he  must  have 
been  an  effective  and  even  delightful  teacher.  For  example,  as  an  appendix  to 
Syntax  in  general,  he  has  a  chapter  on  what  he  calls  Syniaxis  Schemaiistica,  in 
which  he  trenches  on  what  is  usually  considered  a  part  of  Rhetoric,  and  enu- 
merates and  explains  the  so-caUed  tropes  and  figures  of  speech — Metaphor, 
Metonymy,  Allegory,  Irony,  Climax,  etc.  This  part  of  the  book  is  studded 
with  examples  from  the  English  poets,  and  above  all  from  Spenser,  showing  a 
really  fine  taste  in  the  selection. 

The  subsequent  part  of  the  work,  on  Enghsh  Prosody,  is,  in  like  manner, 
Jlustrated  by  well-chosen  examples;  and,  among  other  things.  Gill  discusses  in 
it  the  compatibility  of  classical  meters  with  the  genius  of  the  English  tongu& 
The  following  passage,  in  which  he  refers  to  the  supposed  influence  of  Chaucer, 
exhibits  what  was  apparently  another  of  his  crotchets,  besides  spelling-reform — 
to  wit,  the  necessity  of  preservmg  the  Saxon  purity  of  our  tongue  against  Lat- 
inisms.  After  maintaining  that,  even  during  the  Danish  and  Norman  invasions, 
the  Saxon  or  English  tongue  of  our  island  remained  pure,  he  proceeds  (we  again 
translate  from  his  Latin)  thus : — 

"At  length  about  the  3'ear  1400,  Geoffrey  Chaucer,  of  unlucky  omen,  made 
his  poetry  famous  by  the  use  in  it  of  French  and  Latin  words.  Hence  has  come 
down  this  new  mange  in  our  speaking  and  writing.  *  *  q  harsh  lips, 
I  now  hear  all  around  me  such  words  as  common,  vices,  envy,  malice ;  even  vir- 
tv£,  study,  justice,  pity,  mercy,  compassion,  profit,  comnwdily,  color,  grace,  favor, 
acceptance.  But  whither,  pray,  in  all  the  world  have  you  banished  those  words 
which  our  forefathers  used  for  these  new-fangled  ones?  Are  our  words  to  be 
exiled  like  our  citizens?  Is  the  new  barbaric  invasion  to  extirpate  the  English 
tongue?  0  ye  Englishmen,  on  you,  I  say,  I  call,  in  whose  veins  that  blood 
flows,  retain,  retain  what  yet  remains  of  our  native  speech,  and,  whatever  ves- 
tiges of  our  forefathers  are  yet  to  be  seen,  on  these  plant  your  footsteps." 

While  thus  working  mainly  in  Piiilology,  Mr  Gill  had  not  quite  abandoned 
his  Metaphysics.  Some  fiftieen  years  after  the  time  at  which  we  have  now  ar- 
rived, he  brought  out  his  last  and  largest  work,  the  "  Sacred  Philosophy  of  the 
Holy  Scriptures" — a  kind  of  detailed  demonstration,  as  against  Turks.  Jews, 
Infidels,  Heretics,  and  all  gainsayers  whatsoever,  of  the  successive  articles  of 
the  Apostles'  Creed,  on  the  principles  of  pure  reason.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed 
but  that  in  those  daj'S,  when  the  idea  of  severing  the  secular  from  the  rehgious 
in  schools  had  not  yet  been  heard  of^  his  pupils  would  now  and  then  have  a 
touch  of  hi.s  Metaphysics  as  well  as  of  his  Philology.  They  were  lucky  if  they 
had  not  also  a  touch  of  something  else.  "Dr.  Gill,  the  father,"  says  Aubrey  in 
Oiie  of  his  MSS.,  "was  a  very  ingenicsc  person,  as  may  appear  by  his  writings, 
notwithstanding,  he  had  his  moods  and  humors,  as  particularly  his  whipping  fits. 
Often  Dr.  G.  whipped  Duncombe,  who  was  afterwards  a  Colonel  of  Dragoons 
at  Edgehill  fi^lit." 


iOU  JOHN  .MIl.TON 

Young  Gill,  the  usher  or  sur-master,  was  by  uo  means  so  steady  a  man  as  his 
father.  Born  about  1597,  he  had  been  educated  at  St.  Paul's  School;  had  gone 
thence,  on  one  of  the  Mercers'  Exhibitions,  to  Trinity  College,  Oxford;  and, 
after  completing  his  course  there,  and  taking  orders,  had  come  back  to  town 
about  1G19,  and  dropped  conveniently  into  the  place  of  his  father's  assistant. 
For  a  time,  either  before  or  after  this,  he  assisted  the  famous  Farnabie  in  his 
school. 

Such  were  the  two  men,  not  uninteresting  in  tliemselves,  to  wliose  lot  it  fell 
to  be  Milton's  schoolmasters.  He  was  under  their  care,  as  we  calcuhite,  at  least 
four  years — from  1620,  when  he  had  passed  his  eleventli  year,  to  the  winter  or 
spring  of  1624 — 5,  when  he  had  passed  his  sixteenth.  During  a  portion  of  this 
time — most  probably  till  1622 — he  had  the  benefit  also  of  Young's  continued 
assistance  at  home. 

St.  Paul's  School,  it  is  to  be  remembered,  was  strictly  a  grammar-school — 
that  is,  a  school  for  classical  instruction  only.  But  since  Colet's  time,  in  virtue 
of  the  great  development  which  classical  studies  had  received  throughout  the 
nation  at  large,  the  efficiency  of  the  school  within  its  assigned  hmits  had  im- 
mensely increased.  Instead  of  peddling  over  Sedulius,  and  other  such  small 
practitioners  of  later  or  middle-age  Latinit}',  recommended  as  proper  class-books 
by  Colet,  the  scholars  of  St  Paul's,  as  of  other  contemporary  schools,  were  now 
led  through  very  much  the  same  list  of  Roman  prose-writers  and  poets  that  are 
still  honored  ;n  our  academies.  The  practice  of  writing  pure  classical  Latin,  or 
what  might  pass  for  such,  both  in  prose  and  in  verse,  was  also  carried  to  a  per- 
fection not  known  in  Colet's  time.  But  the  improvement  in  Latin  was  as  noth- 
ing compared  with  what  had  taken  place  in  Greek.  Although  Colet  in  his 
testamentary  reconnneudations  to  the  Mercers  had  mentioned  it  as  desirable 
that  the  head-master  should  know  Greek  as  well  as  Latin,  he  had  added,  "if 
such  a  man  can  be  gotten."  That,  indeed,  was  the  age  of  incipient  Greek  in 
England.  Colet  had  none  himself;  and  that  Lilly  had  mastered  Greek,  while 
residing  in  earlier  life  in  Rhodes,  was  one  of  his  distinctions.  Since  that  time, 
however,  the  passion  for  Greek  had  spread ;  the  battle  between  the  Greeks  and 
the  Trojans,  as  the  partizans  of  the  new  learning  and  its  opponents  were  re- 
spectively called,  had  been  fought  out  in  the  days  of  Ascham  and  Elizabeth ; 
and,  if  Greek  scholarship  still  lagged  behind  Latin,  yet.  in  St.  Paul's  and  other 
schools,  Greek  authors  were  read  in  fragment.?,  and  Greek  exercises  written,  in 
anticipation  of  the  more  profound  labors  of  the  Universities.  Probabjy  Hebrew 
was  taught  optionally  to  a  few  of  the  highest  boys. 

Whatever  support  other  instances  may  afford  to  the  popular  notion  that  'he 
studious  boys  at  school  do  not  turn  out  the  most  efficient  men  in  after  life,  uic 
believers  in  that  notion  maj'  save  themselves  the  trouble  of  trying  to  provi;  it 
by  means  of  Milton's  boyhood. 

MiUon^s  oivn  account  of  his  ho.hii'i  as  a  schoolboy. — "My  father  destined  ni? 
while  yet  a  little  boy  for  the  study  of  humane  letters,  which  I  seized  with  such 
eagerness  that  from  the  twelfth  year  of  my  age  I  scarcely  ever  went  from  my 
lessons  to  bed  before  midnight;  which,  indeed,  was  the  first  cause  of  injury  to 
my  ej'es.  to  whose  natural  weakness  there  were  also  added  frequent  headaches. 
All  whicli  not  retarding  my  impetuosity  in  learning,  he  caused  me  to  be  daily 
instructed  both  at  the  grannnar-.school  and  under  other  masters  at  home ;  and 
then,  when  I  had  acquired  various  tongues,  and  also  some  not  insignificant  taste 
for  the  sweetness  of  philosophy,  he  sent  me  to  Cambridge,  one  of  our  two 
national  universities." 


JOHN  MII/roN.  1(37 

Auhitijv  (U'couni. — "When  he  went  to  school,  when  he  was  very  young,  iie 
studied  very  hard,  and  sat  up  very  late,  commonly  till  twelve  or  one  o'clock  at 
night ;  and  his  father  ordered  the  maid  to  sit  up  for  him." 

Wood' V  account. — "There  (at  Cambridge)  as  at  school  for  three  years  before, 
'twas  usual  with  him  to  sit  up  till  midnight  at  his  book,  which  was  the  first 
thing  tliat  brought  his  eyes  into  danger  of  blindness.  By  this  his  indefatigable 
fltudy  he  profited  exceedingly." 

Phillips'  account. — (At  Paul's  School)  "he  was  entered  into  the  rudiments  of 
learning,  and  advanced  therein  with  *  *  admirable  success,  not  more  by  the 
discipline  of  the  school  and  the  good  instructions  of  his  masters  *  *  than 
by  his  own  happy  genius,  prompt  wit  and  apprehension,  and  insuperable  indus- 
tr}"^ ;  for  he  generally  sat  up  half  the  night,  as  well  in  voluntary  improvements 
of  his  own  choice,  as  the  exact  perfecting  of  his  school-exercises;  so  that  at  the 
age  of  fifteen  he  was  full  ripe  for  academical  training." 

The  boy's  studies  were  not  confined  to  the  classic  tongues.  "When  at  your 
expense,"  he  says  in  a  Latin  poem  addressed  to  his  father  in  later  years,  "  I  had 
obtained  access  to  the  eloquence  of  the  tongue  of  Romulus,  and  to  the  dehghts 
of  Latium,  and  the  great  words,  becoming  the  mouth  of  Jove,  uttered  by  the 
magniloquent  Greeks,  you  then  advised  me  to  add  the  flowers  which  are  the 
pride  of  Gaul,  and  the  speech  which  the  new  Italian,  attesting  the  barbarian 
inroads  by  his  diction,  pours  forth  from  his  degenerate  mouth,  and  the  mysteries 
which  are  spoken  by  the  prophet  of  Palestine."  The  apiilieatlon  of  these  words 
extends  beyond  Milton's  mere  school-days ;  but  it  is  probable  that  before  they 
were  over  he  had  learnt  to  read  French  and  Itahan,  and  also  something  of 
Hebrew.  In  the  letter  to  Young  at  Hamburg,  already  referred  to,  written  in 
March,  1025,  he  acknowledges  the  gift  of  a  Hebrew  Bible  which  Young  had 
sent  him. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  literature  of  his  own  country  remained  a 
closed  field  to  a  youth  so  fond  of  study,  and  who  had  already  begun  to  have 
dreams  for  himself  of  literary  excellence.  Accordingly  there  is  evidence  that 
Milton  in  hia  bo^-hood  was  a  diligent  reader  of  English  books,  and  that  before 
the  close  of  his  school-time  in  1G24,  he  had  formed  some  general  acquaintance, 
at  least,  with  the  cour.se  of  English  literature  from  its  beginnings  to  his  own 
time. 

MILTON    AT   CAMBRroGE. 

Milton  was  admitted  a  Pensioner  of  Christ's  College,  Cambridge,  on  the  12th 
of  February,.  1624 — 5.*  He  was  one  of  the  fourteen  students  whose  names 
appear  in  the  entry-book  of  the  College  as  having  been  admitted  during  the 
half-j-ear  between  Michaelmas.  1624,  and  Lady-day,  1625.  In  the  remaining 
half  of  the  same  academic  year — namely,  from  Lady-day  to  Michaelmas,  1625 — - 
there  were  thirty  fresh  entries.  Milton,  therefore,  was  one  of  forty-three  stu- 
dents who  commenced  their  academic  course  at  Christ's  College,  in  the  year 
1624—5. 

Eight  of  these  fourteen  students  who  were  admitted  before  Lady-day,  enter 

*  It  may  be  well  liere  to  remind  the  reader  of  the  reason  for  this  double  mode  of  dating. 
Prior  to  1752,  the  year  in  England  was  considered  to  begin,  not  on  the  1st  of  January,  but  on 
the  2,">tli  (il  March.  All  those  days,  therefore,  intervening  between  theSLst  of  December  and 
the  25th  of  March,  which  we  should  now  date  as  belonging  to  a  particular  year,  were  then 
dated  as  bi.'longing  to  the  year  preceding  that.  According  to  our  dating,  Milton's  entry  at 
Christ's  College  took  place  on  the  12th  of  February,  1G25  ;  but  in  the  old  reckoning,  that  day 
•vas  the  12lh  of  February,  1624. 


jyg  JOHN  MILTON. 

as  "lesser  pensioners,"  lour  as  "sizars,"  and  but  one  as  a  "greatL-r  jxiisioiior.'' 
The  distinction  is  one  of  rank.  All  the  three  grades  pay  for  their  Ixiard  and 
education;  and,  in  this  respect,  are  distinct  from  the  scholars,  proix'riy  .so  called, 
who  belong  to  the  foundation.  But  the  "greater  pensioners,"  or  •' fellow-com- 
moners," pay  most ;  they  are  usually  the  sons  of  wealthy  families;  and  they 
have  the  privilege  of  dining  at  the  upper  table  in  the  common  hall  along  with 
the  fellows.  The  "sizars,"  on  the  other  hand,  are  poorer  students;  they  pay 
least ;  and,  though  receiving  the  same  education  as  the  others,  have  a  lower 
rank,  and  inferior  accommodation.  Intermediate  between  the  greater  pension- 
ers and  the  sizars,  are  the  "lesser  pensioners;"  and  it  is  to  this  class  that  the 
bulk  of  the  students  in  all  the  Colleges  at  Cambridge  belong.  Milton,  as  the 
son  of  a  London  scrivener  in  good  circumstances,  took  his  natural  place  in 
becoming  a  "  lesser  pensioner."  His  school-fellow  at  St.  Paul's,  Robert  Porey, 
who  entered  the  College  in  the  same  year  and  month,  and  chose  the  same  tutor, 
entered  in  the  same  rank.  Milton's  father  and  Porey's  father  must  have  made 
up  their  minds,  in  sending  their  sons  to  Cambridge,  to  pay.  each  about  £50  a 
year,  in  the  money  of  that  day,  for  the  expenses  of  their  maintenance  there.* 

Christ's  College,  although  not  the  first  in  point  of  numbers,  was  one  of  the 
most  comfortable  colleges  iuthe  University;  substantially  built ;  with  a  spacious 
inner  (juadrangle,  a  handsome  diuing-hall  and  chapel,  good  rooms  for  the  fellows 
and  students,  and  an  extensive  garden  behind,  provided  with  a  bowling-green, 
a  pond,  alcoves  and  shady  walks,  in  true  academic  taste. 

In  the  year  1624 — 5,  when  Milton  went  to  Cambridge,  the  total  population  of 
the  town  may  have  been  seven  or  eight  thousand.  Then,  as  now,  the  distinc- 
tion between  "town"  and  "gown"  was  one  of  the  fixed  ideas  of  the  place. 
While  the  town  was  governed  by  its  mayor  and  aldermen  and  common-council, 
and  represented  in  Parliament  by  two  burgesses,  the  Universit}-  was  governed 
by  its  own  statutes  as.  administered  by  the  Academic  authorities,  and  was  rep- 
resented in  Parliament  by  two  members  returned  by  itself. 

Into  the  little  world  of  Christ's  Cohege — forming  a  community  by  it.selt"  when 
all  the  members  were  assembled,  of  some  two  hundred  and  fifty  persons,  and 
surrounded  again  by  that  larger  world  of  the  total  University  to  which  it  was 
related  as  a  part — we  are  to  fancy  Milton  introduced  in  the  month  of  February, 
1624 — 5,  when  he  was  precisel}'  sixteen  years  and  two  months  old.  He  was  a 
little  older,  perhaps,  than  most  youths  then  were  on  being  sent  to  the  University. 
Still  it  was  the  first  time  of  his  leaving  home,  and  all  must  have  seemed  strange 
to  him.  To  put  on  for  the  first  time  the  gown  and  cap,  and  to  move  for  the 
first  time  through  unfamiliar  streets,  observing  college  after  college,  each  differ- 
ent from  the  others  in  style  and  appearance,  with  the  majestic  Kings's  conspic- 
uous in  the  midst;  to  see  for  the  first  time  the  famous  Cam,  and  to  walk  by  its 
banks, — these  would  be  powerful  sensations  to  a  youth  like  Milton. 

A  matter  of  some  importance  to  the  young  Freshman  at  College,  after  his 
choice  of  a  tutor,  is  his  choice  of  chambers.  Tradition  still  points  out  at 
Christ's  College  the  rooms  which  Milton  occupied.  They  are  in  the  older  part 
of  the  building,  on  the  left  side  of  the  court,  as  you  enter  through  the  street- 


*•  In  the  autobiography  of  Sir  Simonds  D'Ewes,  he  tells  us  that,  when  lie  went  as  a  fellow- 
commoner  to  St.  John's  Collese,  Cambridge,  in  1618,  his  father  would  not  make  luni  a  larger 
allowance  than  jtGOayear,  which,  with  the  utmost  economy,  he  could  barely  make  sutBcient. 
If  this  was  a  stinsy  sum  for  a  •'  fellow -cnniuioinr,"  It  was  probably  about  the  proper  sum  for 
a  "  le.sser  pensioner." 


JOHN  MILTON. 


169 


gate — the  first  floor  rooms  on  the  first  stair  on  that  side.  The  rooms  cousist  al 
present  of  a  small  study  with  two  windows  looking  into  the  court,  and  a  very 
small  bed-room  adjoining.  They  do  not  seem  to  have  been  altered  at  all  shice 
Milton's  time.  When  we  hear  of  "  Milton's  rooms  "  at  College,  however,  the 
imagination  is  apt  to  go  wrong  in  one  point.  It  was  very  rare  in  those  days 
for  any  member  of  a  College,  even  a  Fellow,  to  have  a  chamber  wholly  to  him- 
self Two  or  three  generally  occupied  the  same  chamber;  and,  in  full  Colleges, 
there  were  ail  kinds  of  devices  of  truckle-beds  and  the  like  to  multiply  accom- 
modation. In  the  original  statutes  of  Christ's  College,  there  is  a  chapter  spe- 
cially providing  for  the  manner  in  which  the  chambers  of  the  College  should  be 
allocated;  "in  which  chambers,"  says  the  founder,  "our  wish  is  that  the  Fel- 
lows sleep  two  and  two,  but  the  scholars  four  and  four,  and  that  no  one  have 
alone  a  smgle  chamber  for  his  proper  use,  unless  perchance  it  be  some  Doctor, 
to  vvhom,  on  account  of  the  dignity  of  his  degree,  we  grant  the  possession  of  a 
separate  chamber."  In  the  course  of  a  century,  doubtless,  custom  had  become 
somewhat  more  dainty.  Still,  in  all  the  Colleges,  the  practice  was  for  the  stu- 
dents to  occupy  rooms  at  least  two  together ;  and  in  all  College  biographies  of 
the  time,  we  hear  of  the  chum  or  chamber-fellow  of  the  hero  as  either  assisting 
or  retarding  his  studies.  Milton's  chamber-fellow,  or  one  of  his  chamber-fel- 
lows, would  naturally  be  Porey.  But,  in  the  course  of  seven  years,  there  must 
have  been  changes. 

The  Terms  of  the  University,  then  as  now,  were  those  fixed  by  the  statutes 
of  Elizabeth.  The  academic  year  began  on  the  10th  of  October,  and  the  fii'st, 
or  Michaelmas  or  October  Term,  extended  from  that  day  to  the  IGth  of  Decem- 
ber. Then  followed  the  Christmas  Vacation.  The  second,  or  Lent  or  January 
Term,  began  on  the  13th  of  January,  and  extended  to  the  second  Friday  before 
Easter.  There  then  intervened  the  Easter  vacation  of  three  weeks.  Finallj', 
the  third,  or  Easter  or  Midsummer  Term,  began  on  the  eleventh  day  (second 
Wednesday)  after  Easter-day,  and  extended  to  the  Friday  after  "  Commence- 
ment Day," — that  is,  after  the  great  terminating  Assembly  of  the  University,  at 
which  candidates  for  the  higher  degrees  of  the  year  were  said  to  ''commence" 
in  those  degrees;  which  '"CommencementDay  "  was  always  the  first  Tuesda}' iu 
July.     The  University  then  broke  up  for  the  "long  vacation"  of  three  months. 

The  daily  routhie  of  college-life  in  term-time,  two  hundred  and  thirty  years 
ago,  was  as  follows: — In  the  morning,  at  five  o'clock,  the  students  were  assem- 
bled, by  the  ringing  of  the  bell,  in  the  College-cliapel,  to  hear  the  morning  serv- 
ice of  the  Church,  followed  on  some  days  by  short  homilies  by  the  Fellows. 
These  services  occupied  about  an  hour ;  after  which  the  students  had  breakfast. 
Then  followed  the  regular  work  of  the  day.  It  consisted  of  two  parts — the 
College-siudies,  or  the  attendance  of  the  students  on  the  lectures  and  examina- 
tions of  the  College-tutors  or  lecturers  in  Latin,  Greek,  Logic,  Mathematics, 
Philosophy,  etc.;  and  the  University-exercises,  or  the  attendance  of  the  students, 
together  with  the  students  of  other  Colleges,  iu  the  "public  schools"  of  the 
University,  either  to  hear  the  lectures  of  the  University-professors  of  Greek, 
Logic,  etc.,  (which,  however,  was  not  incumbent  on  all  students,)  or  to  hear, 
and  take  part  in  the  public  disputations  of  those  students  of  all  the  Colleges 
who  were  preparing  for  their  degrees.*    After  four  hours  or  more  so  spent,  the- 

*  The  disliiiction  between  College-studies  and  University -exercises  must  be  kept  in  mind. 
Gradually,  as  all  know,  tlie  ('ollfge.s  of  Oxford  and  Cambriiljre,  originally  move  places  of  res- 


^yy  JOHN    MII.IDN 

students  diued  togetlier  at  twelve  o'clock  in  ilie  liall.s  ol"  tiieir  respective  Col- 
leges. After  dinner,  there  was  generally  again  an  hour  or  two  of  atteudance 
on  the  declamations  and  disputations  of  contending  graduates,  either  in  college 
or  in  the  "public  schools."  During  the  remainder  of  the  day,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  attendance  at  the  evening-service  in  chapel,  and  at  supper  in  the  hall  at 
Beven  o'clock,  the  students  were  free  to  dispose  of  their  own  time.  It  was  pro- 
vided by  the  statutes  of  Christ's  that  no  one  should  be  out  of  college  after 
nine  o'clock  from  Michaelmas  to  Easter,  or  after  ten  o'clock  from  Easter  to 
Michaelmas. 

Originally',  the  rules  governing  the  daily  conduct  of  the  students  at  Cambridge 
had  been  excessively  strict.  Residence  extended  over  nearly  the  whole  year; 
and  absence  was  permitted  only  fur  very  definite  reasons.  While  in  residence, 
the  students  were  conhned  closely  within  the  walls  of  their  respective  colleges, 
leaving  them  only  to  attend  in  the  public  schools.  At  other  times  they  could 
only  go  into  the  town  by  special  permission ;  on  which  occasions,  no  student 
below  the  standing  of  a  B.  A.  in  his  second  year  was  suffered  to  go  unaccom- 
panied by  his  tutor  or  by  a  Master  of  Arts.  In  their  conversation  with  each 
other,  except  during  the  hours  of  relaxation  in  their  chambers,  the  students 
were  required  to  use  either  Latin,  or  Greek,  or  Hebrew.  When  permitted  to 
walk  into  the  town,  they  were  forbidden  to  go  into  taverns,  or  into  the  sessions, 
or  to  be  present  at  boxing-matches,  skittle-playings,  dancings,  bear-fights,  cock- 
fights, and  the  like ;  or  to  frequent  Sturbridge  fair ;  or  even  to  loiter  in  the 
market  or  about  the  streets.  In  their  rooms  they  were  not  to  read  irreligious 
books;  nor  to  keep  dogs  or  "fierce  birds;"  nor  to  play  at  cards  or  dice,  except 
for  about  twelve  days  at  Christmas,  and  then  openly  and  in  moderation.  To 
these  and  other  rules,  obedience  was  enforced  by  penalties.  There  were  penal- 
ties both  bj'  the  College  and  by  the  University,  according  as  the  offense  con- 
cerned the  one  or  the  other.  The  penalties  consisted  of  fines  according  to  the 
degree  of  the  offense;  of  imprisonment  for  grave  and  repeated  offenses:  of 
ru.stication,  with  the  loss  of  one  or  more  terms,  for  still  more  flagrant  misbe- 
havior ;  and  of  expulsion  from  College  and  University  for  heinous  criminality. 
The  Tutor  could  punish  for  negligence  in  the  studies  of  his  class,  or  inattention 
to  the  lectures ;  College  oflenses  of  a  more  general  character  came  under  the 
cognizance  of  the  Master  or  his  substitute ;  and  for  non-attendance  in  the  pub- 
lic schools,  and  other  such  violations  of  the  University  statutes,  the  penalties 
were  exacted  by  the  Vice-Chancellor.  All  the  three — the  Tutor  and  the  Master 
as  College  authorities,  and  the  Yice-Chancellor  as  resident  head  of  the  Univer- 
sity— might  in  the  case  of  the  younger  students,  resort  to  corporal  punishment. 
'"St  tamen  adultus  fueril"  say  the  statutes  of  Christ's,  referring  to  the  punish- 
ment of  fine,  etc.,  which  the  Tutor  might  inflict  on  a  pupil ;  "  alioquin  virga 
corrigaiiir."  The  Master  might  punish  in  the  same  way  and  more  publicly.  In 
Trinity  College  there  was  a  regular  service  of  corporal  punishment  in  the  hall 
every  Thursday  evening  at  seven  o'clock,  in  the  presence  of  all  the  under- 
graduates, on  such  junior  delinquents  as  'had  been  reserved  for  the  ceremony 
during  the  week.     The  University  statutes  also  recognize  the  corporal  punish- 

idence  for  those  attending  the  University,  have,  in  matters  of  teaching,  absorbfd  or  super- 
seded the  University.  Even  in  Milton's  time,  this  process  was  far  advanced.  The  Univer- 
sity, however,  was  still  represented  in  the  public  dispuiations  in  "  the  schools,"  attendance 
on  which  was  obli^atorv. 


OHN  MILTON.  171 

meat  ol'  non-aduft  students  oflending  in  the  public  schools.  At  v/hat  age  a 
stu  lent  was  to  be  considered  adult  is  not  positively  defined;  but  the  under- 
■siandiug  seems  to  have  been  that  after  the  age  of  eighteen  corporal  punishment 
should  cease,  and  that  even  younger  students,  if  above  the  rank  of  undergrad- 
uates, sltould  be  exempt  from  it. 

In  .spite  of  old  decrees  to  the  contrary,  bathing  in  the  Cam  was  a  daily  prac- 
tice. The  amusements  of  the  collegians  included  many  of  the  forbidden  games. 
Smoking  was  an  all  but  universal  habit  in  the  University.*  The  academic  cos- 
tume was  sadly  neglected.  At  many  Colleges  the  undergraduates,  \\ore  '-new- 
fashioned  gowns  of  any  color  whatsoever,  blue  or  green,  or  red  or  mixt,  with- 
out any  uniformit}-  but  in  hanging  sleeves;  and  their  other  garments  light  and 
gay,  some  with  boots  and  spurs,  others  with  stockings  of  diverse  colors  reversed 
one  upon  another,  and  round  ru.'it}'  caps."  Among  graduates  and  priests  also, 
as  well  as  the  j-oungt  r  students,  "we  have  fair  roses  upon  the  shoe,  long  friz- 
zled hair  upon  the  head,  broad  spread  bands  upon  the  slioulders.  and  long  large 
merchants'  ruffs  about  the  neck,  with  fair  feminine  cuffs  at  the  wrist."  To  these 
irregularities  arising  from  the  mere  frolic  and  vanity  of  congregated  youth,  add 
others  of  a  graver  nature,  arising  from  different  causes.  While,  on  the  one 
hand,  all  the  serious  alike  complained  that  "nicknaming  and  scofiBng  at  religioc 
and  the  power  of  godliness,"  nay,  that  "debauched  and  atheistical"  principles 
prevailed  to  an  extent  that  seemed  "  strange  in  a  University  of  the  Reformed 
Church."  the  more  zealous  Churchmen  about  the  University  found  special  mat- 
ter for  complaint  in  the  increase  of  puritanical  opinions  and  practices,  more  par- 
ticularly in  certain  colleges  where  the  heads  and  seniors  were  puritanically 
inclined.  It  had  become  the  habit  of  many  masters  of  arts  and  fellow-common- 
ers in  all  colleges  to  absent  themselves  from  public  prayers.  Upon  Frida3-s  and 
fill  fasting  days  the  Victualling  houses  prepared  flesh,  "good  store  for  all  scholars 
that  will  come  or  send  unto  them."  In  the  churches,  both  on  Sundays  and  at 
other  times,  there  was  little  decency  of  behavior;  and  the  regular  forms  of 
prayer  were  in  many  cases  avoided.  "Instead  whereof,"  it  was  complained, 
"  we  have  such  private  fancies  and  several  prayers  of  every  man's  own  making, 
(and  sometimes  suddenly  conceiving,  too,)  vented  among  us,  that,  besides  the 
absurdit}-  of  the  language  directed  to  God  himself,  our  young  scholars  are 
thereby  taught  to  prefer  the  private  spirit  before  the  public,  and  their  own 
invented  and  unapproved  pra3'ers  before  the  Liturgy  of  the  Church."  In 
Trinity  College,  "they  lean  or  sit  or  kneel  at  prayers,  every  man  in  a  several 
posture  as  he  pleases ;  at  the  name  of  Jesus  few  will  bow ;  and  when  the  Creed 
is  repeated,  many  of  the  boys,  by  some  men's  directions,  turn  to  the  west  door." 
In  other  colleges  it  was  as  bad  or  worse.  In  Christ's  College  there  was  very 
good  order  on  the  whole;  but  "hard  by  this  House  there  is  a  Town  Inn  (they 
call  it  the  'Brazen  George')  wherein  many  of  their  scholars  live,  lodge,  and 
study,  and  yet  the  statutes  of  the  University  require  that  none  lodge  out  of  the 
college." 

It  yet  remains  to  describe  the  order  of  the  curriculum,  which  students  at 
Cambridge  in  Milton's  time  went  through  during  the  whole  period  of  their  Uni- 

*  Wlim  thf  tobacco-bating  King  James  visited  Cambridge  for  the  first  time,  in  1615,  one  of 
the  orders  issued  to  graduates  and  students  was  that  ihey  should  not,  during  his  Majesty's 
stay,  visit  tobacco-shops,  nor  smoite  in  St.  Mary's  Chapel  or  Trinity  Hall,  on  pain  ofexDulsion 
from  the  University. 


172  JOHN   MII.TON. 

versity  studies.  This  period,  extending,  in  the  Faculty  of  Arts,  over  seven 
years  in  all,  was  divided,  as  now,  into  two  parts — the  period  of  Undergraduate- 
ship  extending  from  the  time  of  admission  to  the  attainment  of  the  B.  A.  de- 
degree;  and  the  subsequent  period  of  Bachelorship  terminating  with  the  attain- 
nieut  of  the  M.  A.  degree. 

Originally,  according  to  the  statutes,  a  complete  quadrimnium  ov  four  years' 
course  of  .'■tudies — that  is  to  say,  twelve  full  terms  of  residence  in  a  College, 
and  of  standing  as  matriculated  students  in  the  books  of  the  University* — was 
required  f  r  the  degree  of  B.  A.  Each  year  of  the  quadricnnium  had  its  appro- 
priate studies;  and,  during  the  la>^t  year  of  it,  the  students  rose  to  the  rank  of 
•'Sophisters,"  and  were  then  entitled  to  partake  in  the  disputations  in  the  pub- 
lic schools.  During  the  last  year  (and  in  practice  it  was  generally  during  the 
last  term)  of  their  quadriennium,  they  were  retjuiredby  the  statutes  of  the  Uni- 
versity to  keep  two  "Acts"  or  "Responsions"  and  two  " Opponencies "  in  the 
public  schools — exorcises  for  which  they  were  presumed  to  be  prepared  by 
simUar  practice  in  their  respective  Colleges.  The  nature  of  these  "Acts"  and- 
"Opponencies"  were  as  follows: — One  of  the  Proctors  having  at  the  beginning 
of  the  academic  year  collected  the  names  of  all  the  .'-tudents  of  the  various 
Colleges  who  intended  to  take  the  degree  of  B.  A.  that  year,  each  of  tliero 
received  an  intimation  shortly  after  the  beginning  of  the  Lent  Term  that  on  a 
future  day  (generally  about  a  fortnight  after  the  notice  was  given)  he  would 
have  to  appear  as  "  Respondent"  in  the  public  schools.  The  .student  so  desig- 
nated had  to  give  in  a  list  of  three  propositions  which  he  would  maintain  in 
debate.  The  question  actually  selected  was  usually  a  moral  or  metaphy.^ical 
one.  The  Proctor  then  named  three  Sophisters,  belonging  to  other  Colleges,, 
who  were  to  appear  as  "  Opponent.s."  When  the  day  arrived,  the  Respondent 
and  the  Opponents  met  in  the  schools,  some  Master  of  Arts  presiding  as  Mod- 
erator, and  the  other  Sophisters  and  Graduates  forming  an  audience.  The  Re- 
spondent read  a  Latin  thesis  on  the  selected  point ;  and  the  Opponents,  one 
after  another,  tried  to  refute  liis  arguments  sj-llogistically  in  such  Lr^tin  as  they 
had  provided  or  could  muster.  When  one  of  the  speakers  was  at  loss,  it  was 
the  duty  of  the  Moderator  to  help  him  out.  When  all  the  Opponents  had 
>poken,  and  the  Moderator  had  dismissed  them  and  the  Respondent  with  such 
praise  as  he  thought  they  had  severall}'  deserved,  the  "  Act "  was  over. 

When  a  student  had  kept  two  Responsions  and  two  Opponencie.*,  (and  in 
order  to  get  through  all  the  Acts  of  the  two  or  three  hundred  Sophister.«  who 
every  year  came  forward,  it  is  evident  that  the  "  schools"  must  have  been  con- 
tinually busy,)  he  was  further  examined  in  his  own  College,  and,  if  approved, 
was  sent  up  as  a  "quajstioni.'^t,"  or  candidare  for  the  B.  A.  degree.  The  "qua^s- 
tionists"  irora  the  various  Colleges  were  then  submitted  to  a  distinct  exarainti- 
tion — which  usually  took  plac;  on  three  days  in  the  week  before  Ash  Wednes- 
day week — in  the  public  schools  before  the  Proctors  and  others  of  the  Univer- 
sity. Those  who  passed  this  examination  were  furnished  by  their  Colleges 
with  a  su2)plicat  to  the  Vice-Chancellor  and  Senate,  praying  that  they  might  be 
adraitted,  as  the  phrase  was,  ad  respondendum  qucesiioni.     Then,  on  a  day  before 


*  The  reader  mll^t  lii.stinguish  bptvveen  u</miss!on  iiiln  a  College  and  matriculation  \i}  the 
general  l'iiiver."5ity  Rejiisters  Both  were  necfssary,  but  the  acts  were  distinct.  The  C'ollepe 
bnoks  certified  all  tl:e  particulars  of  a  student's  coiuiection  with  his  College  and  resit ence 
there;  but,  lor  degrees  and  llie  like,  a  student's  standing  in  the  University  Wrt>  certified  bj 
the  matriculation-book  kept  by  ilie  I'liivi  rsify  Registrar. 


JOHN  MILTON.  173 

Ash  Wtduosdaj-,  all  the  qutestionists  from  each  College  went  up,  headed  by  a 
Fellow  of  the  College,  to  the  public  school,  where,  some  question  out  of  Aris- 
totle's Prior  Analytics  having  been  proposed  and  answered  by  each  of  the 
quaestionists,  (this  process  being  called  "  entering  their  Prioruras,")  they  became 
what  was  called  "  determiners."  From  Asli  Wednesday  till  the  Thursda}'  be- 
fore Palm  Sunday,  the  candidates  were  said  to  stand  in  quadragtsima,  and  had 
a  further  course  of  exercises  to  go  through;  and  on  this  latter  day  their  pro- 
bation ended,  and  they  were  pronounced  by  the  Proctor  to  be  full  Bachelor 
of  Arts. 

Many  students,  of  course,  never  advanced  so  far  as  the  B.  A.  degree,  but, 
after  a  year  or  two  at  the  University,  removed  to  study  law  at  the  London 
Inns  of  Court,  or  to  begin  other  business.  Oliver  Cromwell,  for  example,  had 
left  Sidney  Sussex  College  in  1617,  after  about  a  year's  residence.  Those  who 
did  take  their  B.  A.  degree,  and  meant  to  advance  farther,  were  required  by  the 
original  statutes  to  reside  three  years  more,  and  during  that  time  to  go  through 
certain  higher  courses  of  study  and  perform  certain  fresh  Acts  in  the  public 
schools  and  their  Colleges.  These  regulations  having  been  complied  with,  they 
were,  after  being  examined  in  their  Colleges  and  provided  with  stipplicats, 
admitted  by  the  Chancellor  or  Vice-Chancellor  ad  incipiendum  in  artibus ;  and 
then,  after  certain  other  formalities,  they  were  ceremoniously  created  Masters 
•of  Arts  either  at  the  greater  Comitia  or  general  "Commencement"  at  the  close 
of  the  academic  year,  (the  first  Tuesday  in  Julj',)  or  on  the  day  immediately 
preceding.  These  two  days — the  Vesperiae  Comitiorum,  or  day  before  Com- 
mencement-day, and  the  Comiiia,  or  Commencement-day  itself — were  the  gala- 
-days  of  the  University.  Besides  the  M.  A.  degrees,  such  higher  degrees  as 
LL.  D..  M.  D.,  and  D.  D.  were  then  conferred. 

By  the  original  statutes,  the  connection  of  the  scholar  with  the  University 
was  not  3'et  over.  Every  Master  of  Arts  was  sworn  to  continue  his  "  regency  " 
•or  active  University  functions  for  five  years ;  which  implied  almost  continual 
residence  during  that  time,  and  a  farther  course  of  study  in  theology  and  He- 
brew, and  of  Acts,  disputations  and  preachings.  Then,  after  seven  full  years 
from  tJie  date  of  commencing  M.  A.,  he  might,  after  a  fresh  set  of  form.s, 
become  a  Doctor  of  either  Law  or  Medicine,  or  a  Bachelor  of  Divinitj^;  but  foi 
the  Doctorate  of  Divinitj-,  five  additional  years  were  necessarj^  for  the  attain- 
•ment  of  the  rank  of  D.  D. ;  and  fourteen  years  for  the  attainment  of  the  Doc- 
■torates  of  Law  and  Medicine. 

Framed  for  a  state  of  society  which  had  passed  away,  and  too  stringent  evea 
for  that  state  of  society,  these  rules  had  fallen  into  modification  or  disuse. 
(1.)  As  respected  the  quadriennium,  or  the  initiatory  course  of  studies  prepara- 
tory to  the  degree  of  B.  A.,  there  had  been  a  slight  relaxation,  consisting  in  an 
abatement  of  one  term  of  residence  out  of  the  twelve  required  by  the  Eliza- 
bethan statutes.  This  had  been  done  in  1578,  by  a  formal  decree  of  the  Vice- 
■Chancellor  and  Heads.  It  was  then  ordered  that  every  student  should  enroll 
■his  name  in  the  University  Register,  and  take  his  matriculation  oath  witliin  a 
certain  number  of  days  after  his  first  joining  any  College  and  coming  to  reside ; 
and  that,  for  the  future,  all  persons  who  should  have  so  enrolled  and  matricu- 
lated "  before,  at  or  upon  the  day  when  the  ordinary  sermon  ad  Clerum  is  or 
•ought  to  be  made  in  the  beginning  of  Easter  Term,"  and  who  should  be  proved 
'ly  the  Commons-books  of  their  Colleges  to  huve  in  the  meantime  resided  regu- 


174  .X'H.N    M.l.lON. 

larly,  should  be  considered  to  have  "  wholly  and  I'ully  "  discharged  their  quadii- 
tnnium  in  the  fourth  Lent  following  the  said  sermon.  In  other  words,  the  Lent 
Term  in  which  a  student  went  through  his  exercises  for  his  B.  A.  degree,  was- 
allowed  to  count  as  one  of  the  necessary  twelve.  Since  that  time  another  of  tlie 
required  terms  has  been  lopped  off,  .so  that  now,  ten  real  terms  of  residence  are 
sufficient.  This  practice  seems'  to  have  been  introduced  prior  to  1681 ;  but  in 
Milton's  time  the  interpretation  of  157S  was  in  force.  Even  then,  however, 
matriculation  immediately  after  joining  a  College  was  not  rigorously  insi.-«ted  on,  ■ 
and  a  student  luho  matriculated  any  time  during  the-  Easter  Term  migJit  graduate 
B.  A.  in  tlie  fourlli.  Lent  Term  folloioing.  (2.)  It  was  impos-sible,  con.sistently 
with  tlie  demands  of  the  public  service  for  men  of  education,  that  all  scholars- 
who  had  taken  their  B.  A.  degree  should  tliereafter  continue  to  reside  as  punc- 
tually as  before  during  the  three  additional  years  required  for  their  il.  A.  de- 
gree, and  should  then  farther  bind  themselves  to  seven  years  of  active  academic 
duty,  if  they  aspired  to  the  Doctorate  in  Laws  or  Medicine,  and  to  still  longer 
probation  if  they  aspired  to  the  Doctorate  in  Theology.  Hence,  de-^pite  of 
oaths,  there  had  been  gradual  relaxations.  Tiie  triennium  of  continued  resi- 
dence between  the  B.  A.  degree  and  the  M.  A.  degree  was  stiU  for  a  good  while 
regarded  as  imperative ;  but  after  this  second  degree  had  been  taken,  the  con- 
nection with  the  University  was  slackened.  Tiiose  only  remained  in  the  Uni- 
versity beyond  this  point  who  had  obtained  Fellowships,  or  who  fiOed  Univer- 
sity offices,  or  who  were  assiduously  pursuing  special  branches  of  study ; .  and 
the  majority  were  allowed  to  distribute  themselves  in  tlie  Church  and  through 
society — there  being  devices  for  keeping  up  tlieir  nominal  connection  with  the 
University,  so  as  to  advance  to  the  higher  degrees.  (.3.)  Not  even  here  had  the 
process  of  relaxation  stopped.  The  obligation  of  three  years  of  continued  res- 
idence between  the  B.  A.  degree  and  commencing  M.  A.,  had  been  found  to  be 
burdensome ;  and,  after  giving  way  in  practice,  it  had  been  formally  abrogated. 
The  decree  authorizing  this  important  modification  was  passed  March  25,  1608, 
so  that  the  modification  was  in  force  in  Milton's  time,  and  for  seventeen  years 
before  it.  "  Whereas,"  says  this  decree,  "  doubt  hath  lately  risen  whether  actual 
Bachelors  in  Arts,  before  they  can  be  admitted  ad  incipiendum,  (tlie  phrase  for 
"  commencing "  M.  A.,)  must  of  necessity  be  continually  commorant  in  the 
University  nine  whole  terms,  We,  for  the  clearing  of  all  controversies  in  that 
behalf;  do  declare,  that  those,  who  for  their  learning  and  manners  are  according 
to  statute  admitted  Bachelors  ui  Arts,  are  not  so  strictly  tied  to  a  local  commo- 
rancy and  study  in  the  University  and  Town  of  Cambridge,  but  that,  being  at 
the  end  of  nine  terms  able  by  their  accustomed  exercises  and  other  examina- 
tions to  approve  themselves  worthy  to  be  Masters  of  Arts,  they  may  justl)'  be 
admitted  to  that  degree."  Reasons,  both  academical  and  social,  are  assigned 
for  the  relaxation.  At  the  same  time,  lest  it  should  be  abused,  it  is  provided 
that  the  statutory  Acts  and  exercises  ad  incipiendum  .shaU  still  be  punctually 
required,  and  also  that  every  Bachelor  who  shall  have  been  long  absent,  shall, 
on  coming  back  to  take  his  Master's  degree,  bring  with  him  certificates  of  good 
conduct,  signed  by  "  three  preaching  ministers,  Masters  of  Arts  at  least,  livmg 
on  their  benefices,"  near  the  place  where  he  (the  Bachelor)  has  been  longest 
residing. 

[Masson  tlms  treats  of  tlie  famous  tradition  of  Milton's  having  been  the  vie- 
liin  of  corpora!  punishment  during  liis  secmd  year's  residence  at  Cambridge:] 


JOHN  MILTON.  175 

The  tradilion  of  some  incident  in  MQtou's  University  life,  of  a  kind  wliich  hi» 
enemies,  by  exaggerating  and  misrepresenting  it,  were  able  afterwards  to  use 
to  his  discredit,  is  very  old.  It  was  probably  first  preseated  in  the  definite 
shape  in  which  we  now  have  it,  by  Dr.  Johnson  in  his  memoir  of  the  poet : 
"  I  am  ashamed  to  relate  what  I  fear  is  true,  that  Milton  was  one  of  the  last 
students  in  either  University  that  suffered  the  public  indignity  of  corporal 
correction." 

"Warton,  Todd,  and  others  have  entered  somewhat  largely  into  the  question 
of  the  possibility  of  the  alleged  punishment  consistently  with  the  College  prac- 
tice of  the  time.  On  this  head  there  is  no  denying  that  the  thing  was  possible 
enough.  The  ^^virgd  a  suis  corrigaiur"  of  the  old  statutes  certainly  remained 
m  force  for  young  under-graduates  both  at  Oxford  and  Cambridge.  As  late  as 
1649,  Henry  Stubbe,  a  writer  of  so  much  reputation  in  his  day  that  Wood  gives 
a  longer  memoir  of  him  than  of  Milton,  was  publicly  flogged  in  the  refectory 
of  Christ  Church,  Oxford,  when  eighteen  years  of  age,  for  "insolent  and  prag- 
matical "  conduct.  Other  instances  might  be  produced  to  show  that  in  any  case 
Johnson's  phrase,  "one  of  the  last  at  either  University  who,"  etc.,  would  be 
historicallj'  wrong.  There  can  be  no  doubt,  however,  that  the  practice  was 
getting  out  of  repute.  In  the  new  Oxford  Statutes  of  1635,  corporal  punish- 
ment was  restricted  (though  Stubbe,  it  seems,  did  not  benefit  by  the  restriction) 
to  boys  under  sixteen. 

Johnson's  authority  for  the  statement,  we  now  know,  was  Aubrey's  MS.  life 
of  Milton.     The  original  passage  is  as  follows : — 

"And  was  a  very  hard  student  in  the  University,  and  performed  all  his  exer- 
cises with  very  good  applause.     His  first  tutor  there  was  Mr.  Chappell,  from 

whipt  him 
whom  receiving  some  unkiudness,  he  was  (though  it  seemed  contrary  to  the 
rules  of  the  College)  transferred  to  the  tuition  of  one  Mr.  Tovell,  (miswritten 
for  Tovey,)  who  died  parson  of  Lutterworth." 

This  passage  occurs  in  a  paragraph  of  particulars  expressly  set  down  by 
Aubrey  in  his  MS.  as  having  been  derived  from  the  poet's  brother  Christopher. 
It  seems  impossible,  therefore,  to  doubt  that  it  is  in  the  main  authentic.  Of  the 
whole  statement,  however,  precisely  that  which  has  the  least  look  of  authen- 
ticity is  the  pungent  fact  of  the  interlineation.  That  it  is  an  interlineation,  and 
not  a  part  of  the  text,  suggests  that  Aubrey  did  not  get  it  from  Christopher 
Milton,  but  picked  it  up  from  gossip  afterwards;  and  it  is  exactly  the  kind  of 
fact  that  gossip  likes  to  invent.  But  take  the  passage  fully  as  it  stands,  the 
interlineation  included,  and  there  are  stiD  two  respects  in  which  it  fails  to  bear 
out  Johnson's  formidable  phrase,  "  one  of  the  last  students  in  either  University 
who,"  etc.,  especiall}^  in  the  circumstantial  form  which  subsequent  writers  have 
given  to  the  phrase  by  speaking  of  the  punishment  as  a  public  one  at  the  hands 
of  Dr.  Bainbrigge,  the  College  Master.  (1.)  So  far  as  Aubrey  hints,  the  quarrel 
was  originally  but  a  private  one  between  Milton  and  his  tutor,  Chappell — at 
most,  a  tussle  between  the  tutor  and  the  pupil  in  the  tutor's  rooms,  with  which 
Bainbrigge,  in  the  first  instance,  might  have  had  nothing  to  do.  (2.)  Let  the 
incident  have  been  as  flagrant  as  might  be,  it  appertains  and  can  appertain  only 
to  one  particular  year,  and  that  an  early  one,  of  Milton's  undergraduateship. 
At  no  time  in  the  history  of  the  University  had  any  except  undergraduates 
been  liable  by  statute  to  corporal  punishment;  and  even  undergraduates,  if  over 
the  age  of  eighteen,  had  usually,  if  not  invariably,  boon  considered  I'Xcuiiit 


17(;  .KillN    MII.ION 

X(i\v  Milton  attiiiiied  tlie  age  of  eiglitcen  complete  on  the  9th  o,''  Diceniber, 
liJL'ij.  Unless,  therefore,  lie  was  made  an  exception  to  all  rule,  the  incident 
nnist  iiave  taken  place,  if  it  took  place  at  all,  either  in  his  first  term  of  residence, 
or  in  the  course  of  that  year,  1625 — 6,  with  which  we  are  now  concerned. 

That  the  quarrel,  whatever  was  its  form,  did  take  place  in  this  very  year,  is 
all  but  established  by  a  reference  which  Milton  has  himself  made  to  it.  The 
ref^'rence  occurs  in  the  first  of  his  Latin  Elegies:  which  is  a  poetical  epistle  to 
his  friend  Diodati,  and  the  date  of  the  composition  of  which  may  be  fixed,  with 
.sonietlung  like  certainty,  in  April  or  May,  1626. 

Diodati,  it  seems,  had  a  fancy  for  writing  his  letters  occasionallj'  in  Greek. 
After  taking  his  degree  in  December,  1625,  Diodati  resided  for  a  while  in 
•Cheshire,  whence,  in  April  or  May,  1626,  he  directs  a  short  Ijut  sprightly  epistle 
in  Greek  to  Milton,  who  was  then  in  London. 

•'I  liave.no  fault  to  find,"  he  says,  "with  my  present  mode  of  life,  except 
that  I  am  deprived  of  any  mind  fit  to  converse  with.  In  other  respects  all 
passes  pleasantl)'^  here  in  the  country ;  tor  what  else  is  wanting,  when  the  days 
are  long,  the  scenery  around  blooming  with  flowers,  and  waving  and  teeming 
with  leaves,  on  every  branch  a  nightingale  or  goldfinch  or  other  bird  of  song 
delighting  with  its  warblings,  most  varied  walks,  a  table  neither  scant  nor  over- 
burdened, and  sleep  undisturbed  ?"'  Then,  wishing  that  Miltou  were  with  him, 
he  adds,  '"  But  you,  wondrous  youth,  why  do  you  despise  the  gifts  of  nature ; 
why  do  you  persist  inexcusably  in  tying  j-ourself  night  and  day  to  your  books? 
Live,  laugh.  enjo\'  your  youth  and  the  present  hour.  I,  in  all  things  else  your 
inferior,  both  think  myself  and  am  superior  to  you  in  this,  that  I  know  a  mod 
eration  in  my  labors." 

[To  this  Greek  letter  Milton  replies  in  a  pastoral  epistle,  which  he  has  pre- 
served among  his  Latin  Elegies.  From  this  we  give  in  translation  a  few  lines 
evidently  bearing  on  his  college  troubles.] 

"  Me  at  present  that  city  contains  which  the  Thames  washes  with  its  ebbing 
wave ;  and  me,  not  unwilling,  my  father's  house  now  possesses.  At  present  it 
is  not  ray  care  to  revisit  the  reedy  Cam ;  nor  does  the  love  of  ray  forbidden 
rooms  yet  cause  me  grief  {nee  dudum  vetiti  me  laris  anrjit  amor.)  Nor  do  naked 
fields  please  me,  where  sofl  shades  are  not  to  be  had.  How  ill  that  place  suits 
the  votaries  of  Apollo  !  Nor  am  I  in  the  humor  still  to  bear  the  threats  of  a 
harsh  master  {duri  minas  perferre  magistri,)  and  other  things  not  to  be  submit- 
ted to  by  my  genius  {co&leraque  ingenio  non  subeunda  meo.)  If  this  be  exile  {si 
■sit  hoc  exilium,)  to  have  gone  to  my  father's  house,  and,  free  from  cares,  to  be 
pursuing  agreeable  relaxations,  then  certainly  I  refuse  neither  the  name  nor  the 
lot  of  a  fugitive  {non  ego  vel  profugi  nomen  sortemque  recuso,)  and  gladl)'^  I  enjoy 
the  condition  of  exile  {Icetus  et  exilii  conditione  fruor.)  0  that  that  poet,  the 
tearful  exile  in  the  Pontic  territory,  [i.  e.  Ovid,]  had  never  endured  worse 
things!"  [The  poet  then  dwells  on  his  theater-going,  etc.— ..pon  which  his 
biographer  thus  comments :] 

This  epistle  so  far  tells  its  own  story.  It  shows  that  some  time  in  the  course 
of  the  spring  of  1626,  Milton  was  in  London,  amusing  himself  as  during  a  holi- 
day, and  occasionally  visiting  the  theaters  in  Bankside.  The  question,  how- 
ever, remains,  what  was  the  occasion  of  this  temporary  absence  from  Cambridge, 
and  how  long  it  lasted.  Was  it  merely  that  Milton,  as  any  other  student  might 
:have  done,  spent  the  Easter  vacation  of  that  year  with  his  family  in  town — 


JOHN   MII.TON.  ]  77 

quittiiitr  Cambridge  on  the  31st  of  Marcli.  Miien  the  Lent  Term  ended,  anc 
Teturning  by  the  19th  of  April,  when  the  Easter  Term  began?  The  languagx 
and  tone  of  various  parts  of  the  epistle  seem  to  render  this  explanation  insiifli- 
C'ient.  In  short,  taking  all  that  seems  positive  in  the  statements  of  the  elegy, 
■along  with  all  that  seems  authentic  in  the  passage  from  Aubrey,  the  facts 
assume  this  form:  Towards  the  close  of  the  Lent  Term  of  1625 — 6,  Milton  and 
his  tutor,  Chappell,  had  a  disagreement;  the  disagreement  was  of  such  a  kind 
that  Bainbrigge,  as  Master  of  the  College,  had  to  interfere ;  the  consequence 
was  that  Milton  withdrew  or  was  sent  from  College  in  circumstances  equivalent 
to  "rustication;"  his  absence  extended  probably  over  the  whole  of  the  Easter 
racation  and  part  of  the  Easter  Term  ;  but  at  length  an  arrangement  was  made 
which  permitted  him  to  return  in  time  to  save  that  term,  and  to  exchange  the 
lutorsliip  of  Chappell  for  that  of  Tovey. 

The  system  of  study  at  Cambridge  in  Milton's  time  was  very  different  from 
what  it  is  at  present.  The  avatar  of  Mathematics  had  not  begun.  Newton 
was  not  born  tOl  ten  years  after  Milton  had  left  Cambridge ;  nor  was  there  then, 
nor  for  thirty  years  afterwards,  any  public  chair  of  Mathematics  in  the  Univer- 
sity. Milton's  connection  with  Cambridge,  therefore,  belongs  to  the  closing  age 
of  an  older  system  of  education,  the  aim  of  which  was  to  turn  out  scholars, 
according  to  the  meaning  of  that  term  once  general  over  Europe.  This  system 
had  been  founded  very  much  on  the  mediaeval  notion  of  what  constituted  the 
httumscihile.  According  to  this  notion  there  were  "Seven  Liberal  Arts,"  apart 
from  and  subordinate  to  Philosophy  proper  and  Theology — to  wit,  Grammar, 
Logic,  and  Rhetoric,  forming  together  what  was  called  the  Trivium ;  and  Arith- 
metic, Geometry,  Astronomy,  and  Music,  forming  together  what  was  called  the 
Quadrivium.  Assuming  some  rudiments  of  these  arts  as  having  been  acquired 
^n  school,  the  Universities  undertook  the  rest ;  paying  most  attention,  however. 
to  the  studies  of   the  Trivium,  and  to  Philosophy  as  their  sequel. 

By  the  Elizabethan  Statutes  of  1561,  the  following  was  the  seven  years' 
course  of  study  prescribed  at  Cambridge  prior  to  the  degree  of  Master  of  Arts: 

"1.  Tlie  Quadrieanium  of  the  Undei-graduatesliij) :  First  year,  Rhetoric;  sec- 
ond and  third.  Logic;  fourth.  Philosophy ; — these  studies  to  be  carried  on  both 
in  College  and  by  attendance  on  the  University  lectures  {domi  forisque) ;  and 
the  proficiency  of  the  student  to  be  tested  by  two  disputations  in  the  public 
schools  and  two  respondents  in  his  own  College. 

"2.  The  Triennium  of  Bachelorship :  Attendance  during  the  whole  time  on 
the  public  lectures  in  Philosophy  as  before,  and  also  on  those  in  Astronomy,  Per- 
spective, and  Greek;  together  with  a  continuance  of  the  private  or  College  stud- 
ies, so  as  to  complete  what  had  been  begun ; — moreover,  a  regular  attendance 
at  all  the  disputations  of  the  Masters  of  Arts  ibr  the  purpose  of  general  improve- 
ment; three  personal  responsions  in  the  public  schools  to  a  Master  of  Arts  op- 
posing, two  College  exercises  of  the  same  kind,  and  one  College  declamation." 

In  Trinity  College,  the  arrangements  for  the  collegiate  education  of  the  pupils 
seem  to  have  been  very  complete.  Under  one  head  lecturer,  or  general  super- 
intendent, there  were  eight  special  lecturers  or  teachers,  each  of  whom  taught 
and  examined  an  hour  or  an  hour  and  a  half  daily — the  lector  Humanitatis,  sivc 
lirtgucE  Laiinoe,  who  also  gave  weekly  lectures  oo  Rhetoric;  the  lector  Grceca 
grammaiicce ;  the  lector  linguce  Grcecce;  the  lector  mathematicus ;  and  four  sub- 
lectores,  under  whom  the  students  advanced  gradually  from  elemeatary  Logic  to 
tlie  higVier  parts  of  Logic  and  to  Mctnplivsics. 


178  JOHN  MILTON. 

In  St.  John's  College,  tlie  next  in  magnitude  after  Trinity,  the  instruction — it 
we  may  judge  from  the  accounts  given  by  Sir  Simonds  D'Ewes  of  his  studies* 
there  in  1618  and  1G19 — does  not  seem  to  have  been  so  systematic.  For  this- 
reason  it  maj'  be  taken  as  tlie  standard  of  what  was  usual  in  other  colleges, 
such  as  Christ's. 

D'Ewes,  being  a  pious  youth,  was  in  the  habit,  of  his  own  accord,  and  while 
yet  but  a  freshman,  of  attending  at  the  Divinity  professor's  lectures,  and  also  at 
the  Divinity  Acts  in  the  schools.  He  also  attended  the  public  lectures  of  old 
Downes,  in  Greek,  (Demosthenes'  De  Corona  being  the  subject,)  and  of  Herbert, 
the  poet,  in  Rhetoric.  This  was  voluntarj'  work,  however,  undertaken  all  tlie 
more  readily  that  the  lectures  were  gratis,  and  when  Downes,  who  was  a  fellow 
St.  John's,  oO'crcd  to  form  a  private  Greek  class  for  the  benetit  of  D'Ewes  and  a 
few  others,  D'Ewes  was  alarmed,  and  sheered  off.  "  My  small  stipend  my  father 
allowed  me,"  he  saj's,  "affording  me  no  sufficient  remuneration  to  bestow  on 
him,  I  excused  myself  from  it,  telling  him,"  etc.,  and  keeping  out  of  his  way 
afterward  as  much  as  possible.  All  the  education  which  D'P]wes  received  in  his 
College,  during  the  two  years  he  was  there,  consisted — first,  in  attendance  on  the 
problems,  sophisms,  disputations,  declamations,  catechisings,  and  other  exercises 
which  were  regularly  held  in  the  College  chapel;  secondly,  in  the  daily  lessons 
he  received  in  Logic,  Latin,  and  every  thing  else,  from  his  tutor,  Mr.  Holds- 
worth  ;  and,  thirdly,  in  his  additional  readings  in  his  own  room,  suggested  b)r 
his  tutor  or  undertaken  by  him.«elf.  Here,  in  his  own  words,  under  each  of 
these  heads,  is  an  exact  inventory  of  his  two  years'  work : 

L  Public  Exercises  in  the  Chapel,  etc.  "Mine  own  exercises,  performed  dur- 
ing my  stay  here,  were  very  few — replying  only  twice  in  two  philo.sophical 
Acts ;  the  one  upon  Mr.  Richard  Salstonall  in  the  public  schools,  it  being  his 
Bachelor's  Act,  the  other  upon  Mr.  Nevill,  a  fellow-commoner  and  prime  student 
of  St.  John's  College,  in  the  Chapel.  My  declamations,  also,  were  very  rarely 
performed — the  first  in  my  tutor's  chamber,  and  the  other  in  the  College  chapel." 

II.  Readings  with  his  Tutor.  "  Mr.  Richard  Iloldsworth,  my  tutor,  read  with 
me  but  one  year  and  ahalf  of  that  time,  [i.  e.  of  the  whole  two  years;]  in  which 
he  went  over  all  Seton's  Logic,*  exactlj-,  and  part  of  Kcckermannf  and  Molina3US.:J: 
Of  Ethics  or  Moral  Philosophy  he  read  to  me  Gelius  and  part  of  Pickoloniineus  ;§ 
of  Phy.sics,  part  of  Magirus;||  and  of  History,  part  of  Florus." 

III.  Private  Eeadings  and  Exercises.  "Which  \i.  e.  Florus,]  I  afterward 
finished,  transcribing  historical  abbreviations  out  of  it  in  mine  own  private 

*  "  Dialectica  Joannis  Setoni,  Cantabrigiensi.'!,  aniiotationibiis  Petri  Carteri,  ut  riarissimis, 
ita  brevissimis  explicata.  Huic  accessit,  ob  artium  ingenuarutn  inter  se  cognationem, 
Gulielmi  Bucla;i  arilhmetica:  Loiidoni,  1611."  There  were  editions  of  this  work,  with  ex- 
actly the  same  title,  as  early  as  1572,  from  wliicli  time  it  seems  to  have  been  the  favorite  ele- 
mentary text-boolt  in  logic  at  Cambridge.  The  appended  "  Arithmetic  "  ot  Buclfleu.s  (Buck- 
ley,) i=  a  series  of  rules  in  addition,  subtraction,  etc  ,  in  memorial  latin  verse — a  curiosity  in 
its  way. 

t  Keckermanni,  Barthol.  Systema  Logic*.  8vo.  Hanov.,  1(KX).  Keckermann  was  also  au- 
thor of  •'  Pra!cognita  Logica  :  Hanov  ,  1606  ;"  and  of  other  works. 

JMoliniEus  is  Peter  du  Moulin,  author,  among  other  works,  of  an  "  Elementary  Logic." 

§  Who  this  Gelius  was,  I  do  not  know  ;  Pickolomineus  was,  doubtless,  Alcssandro  Piccol- 
omini,  Archbishop  of  Patras,  author,  among  other  works,  of  one  entitled  "  Delia  Institutione 
Morale:  Vcnet.,  1500,"  of  which  there  may  have  been  a  Latin  translation. 

'Joannes  Magirus  was  author  of  "  Autlnopologia,  hoc  est  Comment,  in  P.  ^lelancthonij  . 
Libellum  de  Aniina:  Franc.  1C03:"  also  m  "  Phy  i  logia  Peripatetica:  1611." 


j(jHN  Mii.TON.  17y 

study;  in  which  also  I  perused  most  of  the  other  authors  [».  e.  of  those  men- 
tioned as  read  with  his  tutor,]  and  read  over  Gellius'  Attick  Nights  and  part  of 
Macrobius'  Saturuals.  *  *  My  frequent  Latin  letters  and  more  frequent 
Knglish,  being  sometimes  very  elaborate,  did  much  help  to  amend  and  perfect 
nw  style  in  either  tongue  ;  which  letters  I  sent  to  several  friends,  and  was  often 
a  considerable  gainer  by  their  answers— especially  by  my  father's  writing  to  me, 
whose  English  style  was  very  sententious  and  lofty.  *  *  i  spent  the  next 
month,  (April,  1619.)  very  laboriously,  very  busied  in  the  perusal  of  Aristotle's 
Physics,  Ethics  and  Politics,  [in  Latin  translations  we  presume ;]  and  I  read 
logic  out  of  several  authors.  I  gathered  notes  out  of  Floras'  Roman  History. 
At  night  also  for  my  recreation  I  read  [Henry]  Stephens's  Apology  for  Herodo- 
tus, and  Spenser's  Fairie  Queen,  being  both  of  them  in  English.  I  had  trans- 
lated also  some  odes  of  Horace  into  English  verse,  and  was  now  Englishing  his 
bbok,  "De  Arte  Poetica."  Nay,  I  began  already  to  consider  of  employing  my 
talents  for  tlje  public  good,  not  doubting,  if  God  sent  me  life,  but  to  leave  some- 
what to  posterity.  I  penned,  therefore,  divers  imperfect  essays ;  began  to  gathef 
collections  and  conjectures  in  imitation  of  Aulus  Gellius,  Fronto,  and  Caeselliu. 
Vindex,  with  divers  other  materials  for  other  writings. 

The  names  of  the  books  mentioned  by  D'Ewes,  bear  witness  to  the  fact  oth 
erwise  known,  that  this  was  an  age  of  transition  at  Cambridge,  out  of  the  rigid 
scholastic  discipline  of  the  previous  century,  into  something  different.  The 
avatar  of  modern  Mathematics,  as  superior  co-regnant  with  Philology  in  the 
system  of  study,  had  not  yet  come ;  and  that  which  reigned  along  with  Phi 
lology,  or  held  that  place  of  supremacy  by  the  side  of  Philology  which  Matht 
matics  has  since  occupied,  was  ancient  Logic  or  Dialectics.*  Ancient  Logic,  w<, 
say;  for  Aristotle  was  still  in  great  authority  in  this  hemisphere,  or  rather  two 
thirds  of  the  sphere,  of  the  academic  world.  Not  only  were  his  logical  treatisetr 
and  those  of  his  commentators  and  expositors  used  as  text-books,  but  the  mauv 
part  of  the  active  intellectual  discipline  of  the  students  consisted  in  the  inces 
sant  practice,  on  all  kinds  of  metaphysical  and  moral  questions,  of  that  art  of 
dialectical  disputation,  which,  under  the  name  of  the  Aristotelian  method,  had 
been  set  up  by  the  school-men  as  the  means  to  universal  truth.  Already,  how 
ever,  there  were  symptoms  of  decided  rebellion.  (1.)  Although  the  blow  struck 
at  Aristotle  by  Luther,  and  some  of  the  other  Reformers  of  the  preceding  cen- 
tury, in  the  express  interest  of  Protestant  doctrine,  had  been  but  partial  in  its 
effects,  and  Melancthon  him.self  had  tried  to  make  peace  between  the  Stagirite 
and  the  Reformed  Theology,  the  supremacy  of  Aristotle  had  been  otherwise 
shaken.  In  his  own  realm  of  Logic  he  had  been  assailed,  and  assailed  furiously, 
by  the  Frenchman  Ramus,  (1515 — 1572;)  and,  though  the  Logic  of  Ramus, 
which  he  offered  as  a  substitute  for  that  of  Aristotle,  was  not  less  scholastic,  nor 
even  essentially  different,  yet  such  had  been  the  effect  of  the  attack  that  Ramism 
and  Aristotelianism  now  divided  Europe.  In  Protestant  countries  Ramus  had 
more  followers  than  in  Catholic,  but  in  almost  every  University  his  "  Logic  "  was 
known  and  .studied.  Introduced  into  Scotland  by  Andrew  Melville,  it  became 
a  text-book  in  the  Universities  of  that  country.     In  Oxford,  it  made  little  way; 

•■  Speaking  generally,  the  old  system  at  Cambridge  was  philology  in  conjunction  with  logic 
and  the  latter  system  has  been  philology  in  conjunction  with  mathematics.  Philolojiy.  or  at 
least  classic  philology,  has  been  the  permanent  element  ;  the  others  have  alternated  in  power 
as  if  the  one  must  be  out  if  the  other  was  in. 


ISO  JOHN    MII.TON. 

l>ut  there  is  good  evidence  tliat  in  Cambridge,  in  the  early  part  of  the  seven- 
teenth centur}^,  Ramus  had  his  adherents.*  (2.)  A  still  more  momentous  influ- 
ence was  at  work,  however,  tending  to  modify  the  studies  of  the  place,  or  at 
least  the  respect  of  the  junior  men  for  the  studies  enforced  by  the  seniors. 
Bacon,  indeed,  had  died  only  in  1626;  and  it  can  hardly  be  supposed  that  the 
influence  of  his  works  in  England  was  yet  wide  or  deep.  It  was  already  felt, 
however,  more  particularly  in  Cambridge,  where  he  himself  had  been  educated, 
v.'ith  which  he  had  been  intimately  and  officially  connected  during  liis  life,  and 
in  the  University  librar\'  of  which  he  had  deposited,  shortlj'  before  his  deatli,  a 
splendidly-bound  copy  of  his  Imlauralio  Magna,  with  a  glorious  dedication  in 
iiis  own  hand.  Descartes,  still  alive,  and  not  yet  forty  years  of  age,  can  have 
been  but  little  more  than  heard  of.  But  the  new  spirit,  of  which  these  men 
were  the  exponents,  already  existed  by  implication  in  the  tendencies  of  the 
lime,  as  exemplified  in  the  prior  scientific  labors  of  such  men  as  Cardan  and 
Kepler  and  Galileo.  How  fast  the  new  spirit  worked,  after  Bacon  and  Descartes 
had  given  it  systematic  expression,  may  be  inferred  from  the  fact,  that  in  1653, 
there  appeared  a  treatise  on  the  system  of  English  University  studies,  in  which 
it  was  proposed  to  reform  them  on  thoroughly  Baconian  and  even  modern  utili- 
tarian principles.  The  author  quotes  Bacon  tliroughout;  he  attacks  the  Uni- 
versities for  their  slavishne^s  to  antiquit}',  and  their  hesitations  between  Aris- 
totle and  Ramus,  as  if  either  were  of  the  slightest  consequence;  he  argues  for 
the  use  of  English  instead  of  Latin  as  the  vehicle  of  instruction ;  he  presses  for 
the  introduction  of  more  Mathematics,  more  Physics,  and  more  of  what  he  calls 
■the  "  sublime  and  never-sufficiently-praised  science  of  Pyrotechny  or  Chj'-mistry," 
•into  the  course  of  academic  learning.  "  If  we  narrowly  take  a  survey,"  he  says, 
'  of  the  whole  body  of  their  scholastic  theology,  what  is  there  else  but  a  con- 
tused chaos  of  needless,  frivolous,  fruitless,  trivial,  vain,  curious,  impertinent, 
knotty,  ungodly,  irreligious,  thorny,  and  heU-hatched  disputes,  altercations, 
loubts,  questions,  and  endless  janglings,  multiplied  and  spawned  fortli  even  to 
•tioustrosity  and  nauseousne.ss?"f 

Mutatis  Mutandis,  the  course  of  Milton's  actual  education  at  Cambridge,  may 
*)e  inferred  from  that  of  D'Ewes.  In  passing  from  D'Ewes  to  MUton,  however, 
•'he  mutanda  are,  of  course,  considerable.  In  the  first  place,  Milton  had  come 
'o  College  unusually  well  prepared  by  his  prior  training.  Chappell  and  Tovey, 
A^e  should  fancy,  received  in  him  a  pupil  whoso  previous  acquisitions  might  be 
rather  troublesome.  We  doubt  not,  however,  that  they  did  their  duty  by  him. 
Chappell,  to  whose  charge  he  was  first  committed,  must  have  read  Latin  and 
Greek  with  him ;  and  in  Logic,  Rhetoric,  and  Philosophy,  where  Chappell  was 
greatest,  Milton  must  have  been  more  at  his  mercy.  Tovey,  also,  was  very 
much  in  the  logical  and  scholastic  line,  as  may  be  inferred  from  the  fact  of  hig 
having  filled  the  office  of  College  lecturer  in  Logic  in  1621.  Under  him,  we 
should  fancy,  Latin  and  Greek  for  Milton  would  be  very  much  ad  libitum;  and 
the  former  lessons  in  these  tongues  would  be  subservient  to  Logic.  Whatever 
arrangements  for  coUegiate  instruction  there  were  in  Christ's,  as  distinct  from 

*  "The  Lojiiic  of  Ramus,"  says  Professor  De  Morgan,  "  was  adopted  by  the  University  of 
Cambridge;  pri  bably  in  the  sixteenth  century.  Georj!;e  Downame,  or  Downam,  who  died 
Bishop  of  Derry,  in  1634,  was  prrelector  of  loiric  at  Cambridge,  in  1590.  His  "  Commentarii 
in  P.  Rami  Dialecticam,(Franlifort,16]().)  is  an  excellent  work." 

t  Academiarum  Examen  ;  or  the  Examination  of  Academies,  etc.,  by  John  Webster  ;  Lob 
-don,  lGo3."     li  is  dedicated  to  MjjorGeueral  Lambert, 


JOHN  MILTON.  Ig] 

the  instruction  of  the  students  under  their  respective  tutors,  of  these  also  Milton 
would  avail  himself  to  the  utmost.  He  vv^ould  be  assiduous  in  his  attendance  at 
the  "problems,  catechisings,  disputations,  etc.,"  in  the  Chapel.  There,  as  well 
as  in  casual  intercourse,  he  would  come  in  contact  with  Meade,  Honeywood, 
Gell,  and  other  fellows,  and  with  Bainbrigge  himself;  nor,  after  a  little  while, 
would  there  be  an  unfriendly  distance  between  Chappell  and  his  former  pupil. 
Adding  all  this  together,  we  can  see  that  Milton's  education  domi,  or  within  the 
walls  of  his  own  College,  must  have  been  verj"-  miscellaneous.  There  still  re- 
mains to  be  taken  into  account  the  contemporary  education /oris,  or  in  the  Uni- 
versity schools.  Of  what  this  consisted  in  the  statutory  attendance  at  acts,  dis- 
putations, etc.,  Milton  had,  of  course,  his  full  share.  Seeing,  however,  that  his 
fatlier  did  not  grudge  expense,  as  D'Ewes's  father  had  done,  we  maj-  assume 
that  from  the  very  first,  and  more  particularly  during  the  triennium,  he  attended 
various  courses  of  instruction  out  of  his  College.  He  may  have  added  to  his 
Greek,  under  Downes'  successor,  Creighton  of  Trinity.  If  there  were  any  pub- 
lic lectures  on  Rhetoric,  they  were  probably  also  by  Creighton,  who  had  suc- 
ceeded Herbert  as  Public  Orator  in  1627.  Bacon's  intention  at  his  death,  of 
founding  a  Natural  Philosophy  professorship  had  not  taken  eflect ;  but  there 
must  have  been  some  means  about  the  University  of  acquiring  a  little  mathe- 
matics. A  very  little  served ;  for,  more  than  twenty  years  later,  Seth  "Ward, 
when  he  betook  himself  in  earnest  to  mathematics,  had  to  start  in  that  study  on 
his  own  account,  with  a  mere  pocketful  of  College  geometry  to  begin  with.  In 
Hebrew,  the  University  was  better  off,  a  Hebrew  Professorship  having  existed 
for  nearly  eighty  years.  It  was  now  held  by  Metcalfe,  of  St.  John's,  whose 
lectures  Milton  may  have  attended.  Had  not  Whelock's  Arabic  Lecture  been 
founded  only  just  as  Milton  was  leaving  Cambridge,  he  might  have  been  tempted 
mto  that  other  oriental  tongue.  Davenant.  the  Margaret  professor  of  Divinity, 
had  been  a  Bishop  since  1621 ;  but  excellent  lectures  were  to  be  heard,  if  Mil- 
ton chose,  from  Davenant's  successor.  Dr.  Samuel  Ward,  as  well  as  from  the 
Regius  professor  of  Divinity,  Dr.  Collins,  Provost  of  King's.  Lastly,  to  make  a 
leap  to  the  other  extreme,  we  know  it  for  a  fact  that  Milton  could  fence,  and  in 
his  own  opinion,  fence  well. 

Of  the  results  of  all  these  opportunities  of  instruction,  we  have  already  had 
means  of  judging.  There  was  not  in  the  whole  University,  I  believe,  a  more 
expert,  a  more  cultured,  or  a  nobler  Latinist  than  Milton,  whether  in  prose  or 
in  verse.  His  knowledge  of  the  Greek  and  Hebrew  tongues  can  not  at  present 
be  so  directly  tested;  but  there  is  evidence  of  his  acquaintance  with  Greek  au- 
thors, and  of  his  having  more  than  ventured  on  Hebrew.  That  in  Logic  and 
Philosophy  he  had  fulfilled  all  that  was  to  be  expected  of  an  assiduous  student, 
might  be  taken  for  granted,  even  were  certain  proofs  wanting,  which  we  shall 
presently  adduce.  It  seems  not  improbable  that  the  notes  from  which,  in  after- 
life, he  compiled  his  summarj"^  of  the  Logic  of  Ramus,  were  prepared  by  him 
while  he  was  a  student  at  Cambridge.  Lastly,  in  the  matter  of  miscellaneous  pri- 
vate reading,  there  is  proof  that  we  can  hardly  exaggerate  what  Milton  accom- 
plished during  his  seven  academic  years.  Aulus  Gellius,  Macrobius,  Stephens' 
Apology  for  Herodotus,  and  Spenser's  Faerie  Queene,  are  the  chief  authors  on 
D'Ewes'  list ;  but  what  a  list  of  authors — English,  Latin,  French,  and  Italian — 
we  should  have  before  us  if  there  survived  an  exact  register  of  Milton's  volun- 
tary readings  in  his  ciiamber  during  his  seven  years  at  Christ's  I 


TR/VCTATE   ON   EDUCATION 

*    LETTER    TO    MASTER    SAMUEL    HARTLIB." 


UY    JOHN    MILTON. 


Master  Harti.ib  : — I  ain  long  since  persuaded,  that  to  say  and  do 
auglit  worth  memory  and  imitation,  no  purpose  or  respect  should 
sooner  move  us  than  simply  the  love  of  God  and  of  mankind.  Nev- 
ertheless, to  write  now  the  reforming  of  education,  though  it  be  one 
of  the  greatest  and  noblest  designs  that  can  be  thought  on,  and  for 
the  want  whereof  this  nation  perishes,  1  had  not  y^t  at  this  time  been 
induced  but  by  your  earnest  entreaties  and  serious  conjurements  ;  as 
having  my  mind  half  diverted  for  the  present  in  the  pursuance  of  some 
other  assertions,  the  knowledge  and  the  use  of  which,  can  not  but  be 
a  great  furtherance  both  to  the  enlargement  of  truth  and  honesi  liv- 
ing with  much  more  peace.  Nor  should  the  laws  of  any  private 
friendship  have  prevailed  with  me  to  divide  thus,  or  transpose  my 
former  thoughts ;  but  that  I  see  those  aims,  those  actions  which  have 
won  you  with  me  the  esteem  of  a  person  sent  hither  by  some  good 
providence  from  a  far  country  to  be  the  occasion  and  incitement  of 
great  good  to  this  island.  And  as  I  hear  you  have  obtained  the  same 
repute  with  men  of  most  approved  wisdom  and  some  of  the  highest 
authority  among  us,  not  to  mention  the  learned  correspondence  which 
YOU  hold  in  foreign  parts,  and  the  e.xtraordinary  pains  and  diligence 
which  you  have  used  in  this  matter  both  here  and  beyond  the  seas, 
either  by  the  definite  will  of  God  so  ruling,  or  the  jieculiar  sway  of 
nature,  which  also  is  God's  working.  Neither  can  I  think,  that  so 
reputed  and  so  \aUied  as  you  are,  you  would,  to  the  forfeit  of  your 
own  discerning  ability,  impose  upon  me  an  unlit  and  over-ponderous 
argument;  but  that  tlie  satisfaction  which  you  profess  to  have  re- 
ceived from  those  incidental  discourses  which  we  have  wandered  into, 
hath  pressed  and  almost  constrained  you  into  a  persuasion,  that  what 
you  require  from  me  in  this  point,  I  neither  ought  nor  can  in  con- 
science defer  beyond  this  time  both  of  so  much  need  at  once,  and  so 
much  opportunity  to  try  what  God  hath  determined.  I  will  not 
resist,  therefore,  whatever  it  is,  either  of  divine  or  human  obligement, 
*,hat  you  lay  upon  me;  but  will  forthwith  set  down  in  writing,  as 
you  request  me,  that  voluntary  idea,  which  hath  long  in  silence  pre- 
ented  itself  to  me,  of  a  better  education,  in  extent  and  comprehen- 
on  far  more  large,  and  yet  of  time  far  shorter  and  of  attainment  far 


MII.TON  ON  EDUCATION.  \H-i 

•more  ecitain,  thau  hath  been  yet  in  practice.  Brief*  I  shall  endeavoi 
-to  be  ;  for  that  which  I  have  to  say,  assuredly  this  nation  hath  ex- 
treme need  should  be  done  sooner  than  spoken.  To  tell  you,  there- 
fore, what  I  have  benefited  herein  among  old  renowned  authors  I 
shall  s])are  ;  and  to  search  what  many  modern  Januas^  and  Didactics, 
more  than  ever  I  shall  read,  have  projected,  my  inclination  leads  me 
not.  But  if  you  can  accept  of  these  few  observations  which  have 
flowered  off,  and  are,  as  it  were,  the  burnishing  of  many  studious  and 
contemjtlative  years  altogether  spent  in  the  search  of  religious  and 
civil  knowledge,  and  such  as  pleased  you  so  well  in  the  relating,  I  here 
give  you  them  to  dispose  of 

The  end  then  of  learning  is,  to  repair  the  ruins  of  our  first  parents 
by  regaining  to  know  God  aright,  and  out  of  that  knowledge  to  love 
him,  to  imitate  him,  to  be  like  him,  as  we  may  the  nearest  by  posses- 
sing our  souls  of  true  virtue,  which  being  united  to  the  heavenly 
grace  of  faith,  makes  up  the  highest  perfection.  But  because  our  un- 
derstanding cannot  in  this  body  found  itself  but  on  sensible  things, 
nor  arrive  so  clearly  to  the  knowledge  of  God  and  things  invisible 
as  by  orderly  coning  over  the  visible  and  inferior  creature,  the  same 
method  is  necessarily  to  be  followed  in  all  discreet  teaching.^  And 
seeing  every  nation  affords  not  experience  and  tradition  enough  for 
all  kind  of  learning,  therefore  we  are  chiefly  taught  the  languages  of 
those  people  who  have  at  any  time  been  most  industrious  after  wis- 
dom ;  so  that  language  is  but  the  instrument  conveying  to  us 
things  useful  to  be  known.  And  though  a  linguist  should  pride  him- 
self to  have  all  the  tongues  that  Babel  cleft  the  world  into,^  yet  if  he 
have  not  studied  the  solid  things  in  them,  as  well  as  the  words  and 
lexicons,  he  were  nothing  so  much  to  be  esteemed  a  learned  man,  as 
any  yeoman  or  tradesman  competently  wise  in  his  mother-dialect 
only.  Hence  appear  the  many  mistakes  which  have  made  learning 
generally  so  unpleasing  and  so  unsuccessful.  First,  we  do  amiss  to 
spend  seven  cr  eight  years  merely  in  scraping  together  so  much  mis- 
erable Latin  and  Greek  as  might  be  learned  otherwise  easily  and  de- 
lightfully in  one  year.®  And  that  which  casts  our  proficiency  therein  so 
much  behind,  '3  our  time  lost  partly  in  too  oft  idle  vacancies  given  both 
to  schools  and  ..niversities  ;  partly  in  a  preposterous  exaction,  forcing 
the  empty  wits  of  children  to  compose  themes,  verses  and  orations, 
which  are  the  acts  of  ripest  judgment,  and  the  final  work  of  a  head 
filled  by  long  reading  and  observing  with  elegant  maxims  and  copi- 
ous invention. '^  These  are  not  matters  to  be  wrung  from  poor  strip- 
lings, like  blood  out  of  the  nose,  or  the  plucking  of  untimely  fruit ; 
besides   all   the  ill  habit   which   t^^^^v   get  of    wretched   barbarizing 


184  MILTON  ON  EDUCATION. 

against  the  Latin  and  Greek  idiom,  with  their  untutored  Anglicisms,, 
odious  to  be  read,  yet  not  to  be  avoided  without  a  well-continued  and 
judicious  conversing  among  pure  authors,  digested,  which  they  scarce 
taste. ^  Whereas,  if  after  some  preparatory  grounds  of  speech  by 
their  certain  forms  got  into  memory,  they  were  led  to  the  praxis  here- 
of in  some  chosen  short  book  lessoned  thoroughly  to  them,  they 
might  tlu'n  forthwith  proceed  to  learn  the  substance  of  good  things 
and  arts  in  due  order,  which  would  bring  the  whole  language  quickly 
into  their  power.  This  I  take  to  be  the  most  rational  and  most  pro- 
fitable way  of  learning  languages,  and  whereby  we  may  best  hope  to 
give  account  to  God  of  our  youth  spent  lierein.  And  for  the  usual 
method  of  teaching  arts,  I  deem  it  to  be  an  old  error  of  universities,' 
not  yet  well  recovered  from  the  scholastic  grossness  of  barbarous 
ages,  tliat  instead  of  beginning  with  arts  most  easy,  (and  those  be 
such  as  are  most  obvious  to  tbe  sense,)  they  present  their  young,  un- 
matriculated  novices,  at  first  coming  with  the  most  intellective  abstrac- 
tions of  logic  and  metaphysics;  so  that  they  having  but  newly  left 
those  grammatic  flats  and  shallows,  where  they  stuck  unreasonably  to 
learn  a  few  words  with  lamentable  construction,  and  now  on  the  sud- 
den transported  under  another  climate,  to  be  tossed  and  turmoiled 
with  their  unballasted  wits  in  fathomless  and  unquiet  deeps  of  con- 
troversy, do  for  the  most  part  grow  into  hatred  and  contempt  of 
learning,  mocked  and  deluded  all  this  while  with  ragged  notions  and 
babblements,  while  they  expected  worthy  and  delightful  knowledge  ; 
till  poverty  or  youthful  years  call  them  importunely  their  several 
ways,  and  hasten  tlu-m,*"  with  the  sway  of  friends,  either  to  an  ambi- 
tious and  mercenary,  or  igiiorantly  zealous  divinity  :  some  allured  to 
the  trade  of  law,^'  grounding  their  purposes  not  on  the  prudent  and 
heavenly  contemplation  of  justice  and  equity,'^  which  was  never  taught 
them,  but  on  the  promising  and  pleasing  thoughts  of  litigous  terms, 
fat  contentions,  and  flowing  fees  :  others  betake  them  to  state  affairs 
with  souls  so  unprincipled  in  virtue  and  true  generous  breeding,  that 
flattery,  and  court-shifts,  and  tyrannous  aphorisms,  appear  to  them 
the  highest  points  of  wisdom  ;'^  instilling  their  barren  hearts  with  a 
conscientious  slavery,  if,  as  I  rather  think,  it  be  not  feigned  :  others, 
lastly,  of  a  more  delicious  and  airy  spirit,  retire  themselves,  knowing 
no  better,  to  the  enjoyments  of  ease  and  luxury,'*  living  out  their  days 
in  feast  and  jollity,  which  indeed  is  the  wisest  and  safest  course  of  all 
these,  unless  tliey  were  with  more  integrity  undertaken.  And  these 
are  the  errors,  and  these  are  tlie  fruits  of  mis-spending  our  ]M-ime 
youth  at  the  schools  and  universities,  as  we  do,  either  in  learning 
mere  words,  or  such  things  chiefly  as  were  better  unlearnt. 


MILTON  ON  EDUCATION.  lf-5 

I  shall  detain  you  no  longer  in  the  demonstration  of  what  v.t 
should  not  do,  but  straight  conduct  you  to  a  hillside,  where  I  will 
point  you  out  the  right  path  of  a  virtuous  and  noble  education  ; 
laborious  indeed  at  the  first  ascent,  but  else  so  smooth,  so  green,  so 
fldl  of  goodly  prospect  and  melodious  sounds  on  every  side,  that  the 
harp  of  Orpheus  was  not  more  charming.*^  I  doubt  not  but  ye  shall 
have  more  ado  to  drive  our  dullest  and  laziest  youth,  our  stocks  and 
stubs,  from  the  infinite  desire  of  such  a  happy  nurture,  than  we  have 
now  to  haul  and  drag  our  choicest  and  hopefullest  wits  to  that  asin- 
ine feast  of  sow-thistles  and  brambles  which  is  commonly  set  before 
them  as  all  the  food  and  entertainment  of  their  tenderest  and  most 
docible  age.*  I  call,  therefore,  a  complete  and  generous  education, 
that  which  fits  a  man  to  perform  justly,  skilfully,  and  magnanimously, 
all  the  offices  both  private  and  public,  of  peace  and  war.'®  And  how 
all  this  may  be  done  between  twelve  and  one-and-twenty,  less  time 
than  is  now  bestowed  in  pure  trifling  at  grammar  and  sophistry,  is  to 
be  thus  ordered. 

First,  to  find  out  a  spacious  house  and  ground  about  it  fit  for  an 
Academy,'''  and  big  enough  to  lodge  one  hundred  and  fifty  persons, 
wherectf  twenty  or  thereabout  may  be  attendants,  all  under  the  gov- 
ernment of  one  who  shall  be  thought  of  desert  sufficient,  and  ability 
either  to  do  all,  or  wisely  to  direct  and  oversee.it  done.  This  place 
should  be  at  once  both  school  and  university,'*  not  needing  a  remove 
to  any  other  house  of  scholarship,  except  it  be  some  pecuhar  college 
of  law  or  physic  where  they  mean  to  be  practitioners  ;  but  as  for 
those  general  studies  which  take  up  all  our  time  from  Lilly^^  to  the 
commencing, '^'^  as  they  term  it,  master  of  art,  it  should  be  absolute. 
After  this  pattern  as  many  edifices  may  be  converted  to  this  use  as 
shall  be  needful  in  every  city^'  throughout  this  land,  which  would  tend 
much  to  the  increase  of  learning  and  civility  everywhere.  This  num- 
ber, less  or  more,  thus  collected,  to  the  convenience  of  a  foot-com- 
pany or  interchangeably  two  troops  of  cavalry,  should  divide  their 
day's  work  into  three  parts  as  it  lies  orderly, — their  studies,  their  e.\oi-- 
cise,  and  their  diet. 

I.  For  their  studies  :  first,  they  should  begin  with  the  chief  and  neces- 
sary rules  of  some  good  grammar,  either  that  now  used  or  any  bettei'  \^'^ 
and  while  this  is  doing,  their  speech  is  to  be  fashioned  to  a  distinct 
and  clear  pronunciation,'^^  as  near  as  may  be  to  the  Italian,  especially 
in  the  vowels.  For  we  Englishmen  being  far  northerly,  do  not  open 
our  mouths  in  the  cold  air  wide  enough  to  grace  a  southern  tongue, 
but  are  observed  by  all  other  nations  to  speak  exceeding  close  and 
inward  ;  so  that  to  sniattcr  L;itiii  with   an    English  mouth,  is  as  ill  a 


la6  MILTON  ON  EUUCATION 

hearing  as  law  French.  Next,  to  make  tln.ni  expert  in  the  usefullest 
points  of  grammar,  and  withal  to  season  them  and  win  them  early 
to  the  love  of  virtue  and  true  labor,  ere  any  flattering  seducement  or 
vain  principle  seize  them  wandering,  some  easy  and  delightful  book*^* 
of  education  should  be  read  to  them,  whereof  the  Greeks  have  store, 
as  Cebes,  Plutarch,  and  other  Socratic  discourses  ;^^  but  in  Latin  we 
have  none  of  classic  authority  extant,  except  the  two  or  three  first 
books  of  Quintilian,'^^  and  some  select  pieces  elsewhere.  But  here  the 
main  skill  and  groundwork  will  be,  to  temper  them  such  lectures  and 
explanations,  upon  every  opportunity,  as  may  lead  and  draw  them  in 
willing  obedience,  inflamed  with  the  study  of  learning  and  the  admi- 
ration of  virtue,  stirred  up  with  high  hopes  of  living  to  be  brave  men 
and  worthy  patriots,  dear  to  God  and  famous  to  all  ages.  That  they 
may  despise  and  scorn  all  their  childish  and  ill-taught  qualities,  to 
delight  in  manly  and  liberal  exercises;  which  he  who  hath  the  art 
and  proper  eloquence  to  catch  them  with,  what  with  mild  and  eft'ect- 
ual  persuasions,  and  what  with  the  intimation  of  some  fear,  if  need 
be,  but  chiefly  by  his  own  example,  might  in  a  short  space  gain  them 
to  an  incredible  diligence  and  courage,  infusing  into  their  young 
breasts  such  an  ingenuous  and  noble  ardor  as  would  not  fail  to  make 
many  of  them  renowned  and  matchless  men.  At  the  same  time, 
some  other  hour  of  the  day,  might  be  taught  them  the  rules  of 
arithmetic,  and,  soon  after,  the  elements  of  geometry,  even  playing, 
as  the  old  manner  was.  After  evening  repast,  till  bed-time,  their 
thoughts  would  be  best  taken  up  in  the  easy  grounds  of  religion,  and 
the  story  of  scripture.'^''  The  next  step  would  be  to  the  authors  of 
agriculture,  Cato,  Varro,  and  Columella,  for  the  matter  is  most  easy  ; 
and  if  the  language  be  difhcult,  so  much  the  better ;  it  is  not  a  difli- 
culty  above  their  years.  And  here  will  be  an  occasion  of  inciting  and 
enabling  them  hereafter  to  improve  the  tillage  of  their  countiy,  to 
recover  the  bad  soil,  and  to  remedy  the  waste  that  is  made  of  good  ; 
for  this  was  one  of  Hercules'  praises. '^^  Ere  half  these  authors  be 
read,  (which  will  soon  be  with  plying  hard  and  daily,)  they  can  not 
choose  but  be  masters  of  any  ordinary  prose  :  so  that  it  will  be  then 
seasonable  for  them  to  learn  in  any  modern  author  the  use  of  the 
globes  and  all  the  maps,  first  with  the  old  names,  and  then  with  the 
new  \^^  or  they  might  then  be  capable  to  read  any  compendious  meth- 
od of  natural  philosophy.  And  at  the  same  time  might  be  entering 
into  the  Greek  tongue,  after  the  same  manner  as  waa  before  prescribed 
for  the  Latin ;  whereby  the  difliculties  of  grammar  being  soon 
overcome,  all  the  historical  physiology^"  of  Aristotle  and  Theophras- 
tus,  are  open   before  them,  and  as   I  may  say,  under  contribution. 


MILTON  ON  EDUCATION.  18T 

The  like  access  will  be  to  Vitruvius,  to  Seneca's  Natural  Questions,  to 
Mela,  Celsus,  Pliny,  or  Solinus.^'  And  having  thus  past  the  principles 
of  arithmetic,  geometry,  astronomy,  and  geography,  with  a  general 
compact  of  physics,  they  may  descend  in  mathematics  to  the  instru- 
mental science  of  trigonometry,  and  from  thence  to  fortification,  arch- 
itecture, enginery,  or  navigation. ^^  And  in  natural  philosophy  they 
may  proceed  leisurely  from  the  history  of  meteors,  minerals,  plants, 
and  living  creatures,  as  far  as  anatomy.^^  Then  also  in  course  might 
be  read  to  them  out  of  some  not  tedious  wi'iter  the  institution  of 
physic ;  that  they  may  know  the  tempers,  the  humors,  the  seasons 
and  how  to  manage  a  crudity ;  which  he  who  can  wisely  and  timely 
do  is  not  only  a  great  physician  to  himself  and  to  his  friends,  but 
also  may  at  some  time  or  other  save  an  army  by  this  frugal  and  ex- 
penseless  means  only,  and  not  let  the  healthy  and  stout  bodies  of 
young  men  rot  away  under  him  for  want  of  this  discipline,  which  is 
a  great  pvty,  and  no  less  a  shame  to  the  commander.^^  To  set  forward 
all  these  proceedings  in  nature  and  mathematics,  what  hinders  but 
that  they  may  procure,  as  oft  as  shall  be  needful,  the  helpful  expe- 
riences of  hunters,  fowlers,  fishermen,  shepherds,  gardeners,  apothe- 
caries ;  and  in  other  sciences,  architects,  engineers,  mariners,  anato- 
mists, who  doubtless  would  be  ready,  some  for  reward,  and  some  to 
favor  such  a  hopeful  seminary. ^^  And  this  will  give  them  such  a 
real  tincture  of  natural  knowledge  as  they  shall  never  forget,  but 
daily  argument  with  delight.  Then  also  those  poets  which  are  now 
counted  most  hard,  will  be  both  facile  and  pleasant,  Orj)heiis,  Ilesiod., 
Theocritus,  Aratus,  jVicander,  Oppian,  JJionysius ;  and,  in  Latin, 
Lucretius,  Manilius,  and  the  rural  part  of  Virgil. ^^ 

By  this  time  years  and  good  genei-al  precepts  will  have  furnished 
them  more  distinctly  with  that  act  of  reason  which  in  ethics  is  called 
proairesis,  that  they  may  with  some  judgment  contemplate  upon 
moral  good  and  evil.^''  Then  will  be  required  a  special  reinforcement 
of  constant  and  sound  endoctrinating,  to  set  them  right  and  firm, 
instructing  them  more  amply  in  the  knowledge  of  virtue  and  hatred 
of  vice  ;  while  their  young  and  pliant  affections  are  led  through  all 
the  moral  works  of  Plato,  Xenophoyi,  Cicero,  Plutarch,  Laertius,  and 
those  Locrian  remnants  ;  but  still  to  be  reduced  in  their  nightvvard 
studies  wherewith  they  close  the  day's  work  under  the  determinate 
sentence  of  David  or  Solomon,  or  the  evangelist  and  apostolic  Scrip- 
tures.^^ Being  perfect  in  the  knowledge  of  personal  duty,  they  may 
then  begin  the  study  of  economics  ^'  And  either  now  or  before  this, 
they  may  have  easily  learned  at  any  odd  hour  the  Italian  tongue.*" 
And  soon   after,  but   with  wariness   and   good  antidote,  it  would  bo 


18S  MILTON  ON  EDUCATION. 

wholesome  enough  to  let  tlieiii  taste  some  choice  comedies,  Greek, 
Latin  or  Italian  ;  those  tragedies  also  that  treat  of  household  mat- 
ters, as  7'rachinice,  Alcesiis,  and  the  like.* '  The  next  remove  must  be 
to  the  study  of  Politics  ;*^  to  know  the  beginning,  end,  and  reasons  of 
political  societies,  that  they  may  not,  in  a  dangerous  fit  of  the  com- 
moinvealth,  be  such  poor  shaken  uncertain  reeds,  of  such  a  tottering 
conscience  as  many  of  our  great  councilors  have  lately  shown  them- 
selves, but  steadfast  pillars  of  the  state.  After  this  they  are  to  dive 
into  the  grounds  of  law  and  legal  justice,  delivered  first  and  with  the 
best  warrant  by  Moses,  and,  as  far  as  human  prudence  can  be  trusted, 
in  those  extolled  remains  of  Grecian  lawgivei's,  Lj/curgus,  Solon,  Zal- 
eucus,  Charondas ;  and  thence  to  all  the  Roman  edicts  and  tables, 
with  their  Justinian  ;  and  so  down  to  the  Saxon  and  common  laws  of 
England;  and  the  statutes.*^  Sundays,  also,  and  every  evening  may 
now  be  understandingly  spent  in  the  highest  matters  of  theology  and 
church  history,  ancient  and  modern  :  and  ere  this  time  at  a  set  hour 
the  Hebrew  tongue  might  have  been  gained,  that  the  Scriptures  may 
now  be  read  in  their  own  original ;  whereto  it  would  be  no  impossi- 
bility to  add  the  Chaldee  and  the  Syrian  dialect.**  When  all  these 
'imployments  are  well  conquered,  then  will  the  choice  histories,  lieroic 
poems,  and  attic  tragedies  of  stateliest,  and  most  regal  argument, 
with  all  the  famous  political  orations,  offer  themselves ,  which,  if 
they  were  not  only  read,  but  some  of  them  got  by  mem«^ry,  and  sol- 
emnly pronounced  with  right  accent  and  grace,  as  might  be  taught, 
■would  endure  thpm  even  with  the  spirit  and  vigor  of  Demosthenes  or 
Cicero,  Euripides  or  Sophocles.*^  And  now,  lastly,  will  be  the  time  to 
read  with  them  those  organic  arts  which  enable  men  at  discourse,  and 
write  perspicuously,  elegantly,  and  according  to  the  fitted  style  of 
lofty,  mean  or  lowly.* ^  Logic,  therefore, so  nuchas  is  useful,  is  to  be 
referred  to  this  due  place,  with  all  her  well  couched  heads  and  topio.'<, 
until  it  be  time  to  open  her  contracted  palm  inti>  a  graceful  and  or- 
nate rhetoric  taught  out  of  the  rule  of  Plato,  Aristotle,  Phalereus, 
Cicero,  Hermogenes,  Louginus.*^  To  which  poetry  would  be  made 
subsequent,  or  indeed  rather  precedent,  as  being  less  subtile  and  fine, 
but  more  simple,  sensuous  and  passionate.  I  mean  not  here  the  pros- 
ody of  a  verse,  which  they  could  not  but  have  hit  on  before  among 
the  rudiments  of  grammar,  but  that  sublime  ait  which  in  Aristotle's 
Poetics,  in  Horace,  and  the  Italian  commojitaries  of  Castleveti'o, 
Tasso,  Mazzoni,  and  others,  teaches  what  the  laws  are  of  a  true  epic 
poem,  what  of  a  dramatic,  what  of  a  lyric,  what  decorum  is,  which 
is  the  grand  master-piece  to  observe.**  This  would  make  them  soon 
perceive  what  despicable   creatures  our  common  rhymers  and  i>lav 


MILTON  ON  EDUCATION.  189 

writers  be ;  and  show  them  what  religious,  what  glorious  and  mag- 
nificent  use  might  be  made  of  poetry,  both  in  divine  and  human 
things.*'  From  hence,  and  not  till  now,  will  be  the  right  season  of 
forming  them  to  be  able  writers  and  composers  in  every  excellent 
matter,  when  they  shall  be  thus  fraught  with  an  universal  insight 
into  things  :  or  whether  they  be  to  speak  in  parhament  or  council,  hon- 
or and  attention  would  be  waiting  on  their  lips.^"  There  would  then 
appear  in  pulpits  other  visages,  other  gestures,  and  stuff  otherwise 
wrought,  than  we  now  sit  under,  oft-times  to  as  great  a  trial  of  our 
patience  as  any  other  that  they  preach  to  us.^ '  These  are  studies 
wherein  our  noble  and  our  gentle  youth  ought  to  bestow  their  time 
in  a  disciplinary  way  fi-om  twelve  to  one-and-twenty,  unless  they 
rely  more  upon  their  ancestors  dead,  than  upon  themselves  living.^  ^  In 
which  methodical  course  it  is  so  supposed  they  must  proceed  by  the 
steady  pace  of  learning  onward,  as  at  convenient  times  for  memory's 
sake  to  i-etire  back  into  the  middle  ward,  and  sometimes  into  the  rear 
of  what  they  have  been  taught,  until  they  have  confirmed  and  solidly 
united  the  whole  body  of  their  perfected  knowledge,  like  the  last  em- 
battling of  a  Roman  legion.^ ^  Now  will  be  worth  the  seeing  what 
exercises  and  recreations  may  best  agree  and  become  these  studies. 

II.  The  course  of  study  hitherto  briefly  described  is,  what  I  can 
guess  by  reading,  likest  to  those  ancient  and  famous  schools  of  Pythago- 
ras, Plato,  Isocrates,  Aristotle,  and  such  others,  out  of  which  were  bred 
such  a  number  of  renowned  philosophers,  orators,  historians,  poets, 
and  {)rinces,  all  over  Greece,  Italy,  and  Asia,  besides  the  flourishing- 
studies  of  Oyrene  and  Alexandria.'^  But  herein  it  shall  exceed  them, 
and  supply  a  defect  as  great  as  that  which  Plato  noted  in  the  com- 
monwealth of  Sparta ;  whenas  that  city  trained  up  their  youth 
most  fjr  war,  and  these  in  their  academies  and  Lycajum  all  for  the 
gown,  this  institution  of  breeding  which  I  here  delineate,  shall  be 
equally  good  both  for  peace  and  war.'^  Therefore,  about  an  hour  and 
a  half  ere  they  eat  at  noon  should  be  allowed  them  for  exercise,  and 
due  rest  afterwards  ;  but  the  time  for  this  may  be  enlarged  at  pleas- 
ure, according  as  their  rising  in  the  morning  shall  be  early.^*  The  exer- 
cise which  I  commend  first  is  the  exact  use  of  their  weapon,  to  guard, 
and  to  strike  safely  with  edge  or  point.  This  will  keep  them  healthy, 
nimble,  strong,  and  well  in  breath  ;  is  also  the  likeliest  means  to 
make  them  grow  large  and  lall,  and  to  inspire  them  with  a  gallant 
and  fearless  courage,  which  being  tempered  with  seasonable  lectures 
and  precepts  to  make  them  of  true  fortitude  and  jiatience,  will  turn 
into  a  native  and  heroic  valor,  and  make  them  hate  the  cowardice  of 
doing  wrong."      They  must  be   also  practiced   in    all  the  locks  and 


-  "J  MILTON  ON  EDUCATION 

gripes  of  wrestling,  wherein  Englishmen  are  wont  to  excel,  as  need 
may  often  be  in  tight  to  tug,  to  grapple,  and  to  close.'''  And  this  per- 
haps will  be  enough  wherein  to  prove  and  heat  their  single  strength. 
The  interim  of  unsweating  themselves  regularly,  and  convenient  rest 
before  meat,  may  both  with  profit  and  delight  be  taken  up  in  recre- 
ating and  composing  their  travailed  spirits  with  the  solemn  and  divine 
harmonies  of  nnisic^'  heard  or  learned,  either  whilst  the  skillful  organ- 
ist plies  his  grave  and  fancied  descant  in  lofty  fugues,^"  or  the  whole 
symphony  with  artful  and  unimaginable  touches  adorn  and  grace  the 
well  studied  chords  of  some  choice  composer;®*  sometimes  the  lute  or 
soft  organ -stop  waiting  on  elegant  voices  either  to  religious,  martial, 
or  civil  ditties,  which,  if  wise  men  and  prophets  be  not  extremely  out, 
have  a  great  power  over  dispositions  and  manners  to  smooth  and 
make  them  gentle  from  rustic  harshness  and  distempered  passions.** 
The  like  also  would  not  be  inexpedient  after  meat,  to  assist  and  cher- 
ish nature  in  her  first  concoction,  and  send  their  minds  back  to  study 
in  good  tune  and  satisfaction.  Where  having  followed  it  under  vigi- 
lant eyes  until  about  two  hours  before  supper,  they  are,  by  a  sudden 
alarum  or  watchword,  to  be  called  out  to  their  military  motions,  under 
sky  or  covert  according  to  the  season,  as  was  the  Roman  wont;  first 
on  foot,  then,  as  their  age  permits,  on  horseback  to  all  the  art  of  cav- 
alry ;*•'  that  having  in  sport,  but  with  much  exactness  and  daily  muster 
served  out  the  rudiments  of  their  soldiership  in  all  the  skill  of  embat- 
tling, marching,  encamping,  fortifying,  besieging,  and  battering,  with 
ail  the  helps  of  ancient  and  n  odern  stratagems,  tactics,  and  warlike 
maxims,  they  may,  as  it  were  out  of  a  long  w^ar,  come  forth  renowned 
and  perfect  commanders  in  the  service  of  their  country.* '  They  would 
not  then,  if  they  were  trusted  with  fair  and  hopeful  armies,  suft'ei 
them  for  want  of  just  and  wise  discipline  to  shed  away  from  about 
them  like  sick  feathers,  though  they  be  never  so  oft  supplied ;  they 
would  not  suffer  their  empty  and  unrecruitable  colonels  of  twenty 
men  in  a  company  to  quaft'  out  or  convey  into  secret  h(jards  the 
wages  of  a  delusive  list  and  miserable  remnant  ;*^  yet  in  the  mean- 
while to  be  overmastered  with  a  score  or  two  of  drunkards,  the  only, 
soldiery  loft  about  them,  or  else  to  comply  with  all  rapines  and  vio- 
lences. No,  certainly,  if  they  knew  ought  of  that  knowledge  which 
belongs  to  good  men  or  good  governors,  they  would  not  sutfer  these 
thinfifs. 


PROPOSITIONS  FOR  ERECTING  A  COLLEGE  OF  HUSBANDRY. 

PRIXTKD — LONDON,    1651. 


Master  Samuel  Hartlib,  the  friend  of  Milton  and  co-laborer 
with  him  and  Petty,  and  Cowley,  in  endeavors  to  promote  learning 
and  the  public  good  in  their  day,  thus  introduces  "^4to  Essay  for  ad- 
vancement of  Husbandry- Lear niny  :  or  Propositions  for  the  erectiny 
a  colleye  of  Husbandry :  and  in  order  thereunto^  for  the  takiny  in  of 
Pupills  or  apprentices ;  and  also  Friends  or  Felloivs  of  the  same 
CoLLEDGE  or  Society."* 

TO   THE    READER. 

OoTJKTEOus  Eeader, — 1  find  by  experience,  that  it  is  nothing  but  the  narrownes 
of  our  spirits  that  makes  us  miserable  ;  for  if  our  hearts  were  enlarged  beyond 
ourselves,  and  opened  to  lay  hold  of  the  advantages  which  God  doth  ofl'er,  whereby 
we  may  become  joyntly  serviceable  unto  one  another  in  publicke  Concernments ; 
we  could  not  be  without  Lucriferous  employments  for  ourselves;  nor  unfruitfull 
to  our  neighbors,  as  now  for  the  most  part  we  are,  only  because  we  mind  not  the 
objects  of  that  Industriousness,  which  without  a  mutuall  concurrance  can  not  be 
advanced.  For  mine  owne  part,  although  I  can  contribute  but  little ;  yet  being 
carried  forth  to  watch  for  the  opportunities  of  provoking  others,  who  can  do 
more,  to  improve  their  talents,  I  have  found  experimentally  that  my  endeavors 
have  not  been  without  efl'ect  as  to  their  undertaking ;  for  God  hath  brought  be- 
yond what  I  could  imagine  unto  my  hand  from  time  to  time.  Objects  of  Service, 
answerable  to  the  enlargement  of  my  spirit :  So  that  I  must  conclude,  that  it  is 
nothing  but  the  narrownesse  of  all  mens  spirits  that  makes  their  miseries  to  lye 
heavily  upon  them  :  for  there  are  infinite  meanes  of  reliefe  and  comfort,  for  all 
sorts  of  Calamities  to  be  found  in  Nature,  and  well  ordered  Societies,  if  men  were 
not  enviously,  or  covetously,  or  peevishly,  or  ambitiously,  or  drousily  Straitened 
within  themselves,  in  the  use  of  that  which  God  hath  given  them  to  serve  the 
Glory  of  his  goodness  withall ;  towards  the  reliefe  of  themselves  and  others. 
And  to  waken  such  as  are  upright  in  heart,  but  yet  lazie  and  drowsle  under  their 
Distractions,  I  have  thought  good  to  otter  these  hints  to  the  Publique,  which 
have  a  long  time  lain  by  me ;  that  in  this  IlopefuU  appearance  of  Your  settle- 
ment, those  that  droope  might  see  a  possibility  (if  they  will  not  be  wanting  to 
themselves)  to  make  themselves  and  others  in  this  Nation,  and  juncture  of  time, 
more  happie  and  plentifiill  in  outward  Professions  than  their  Forefathers  have 
been ;  by  a  Colledge  or  Corporation  of  Husbandry.  For  if  in  all  other  trades 
and  Sciences,  Colledges  and  Corporations  have  been  and  are  exceedingly  advanta- 
gious  (if  rightly  ordered)  for  the  improvement  of  the  talents  of  tho^e  that  betake 
themselves  thereunto ;  Why  may  we  not  conclude  that  in  the  Science  and  Trade 
of  Husbandry,  which  is  the  mother  of  all  other  trades  and  Scientificall  Industries, 
a  collegiall  way  of  Teaching  the  Art  thereof  will  be  of  infinite  usefulness?  I 
shall  leave  the  thing  to  thy  rationall  concideration,  that  if  the  least  part  of  Indus- 

*  In  this  and  the  following  paper  we  sliall  follow  the  orlhojrnphy  of  the  original. —  Ed 


192  A  coi.i,i:t;i;  of  husuandry. 

trie  is  liiglily  improved  by  Collegiall  institution  and  Education,  liow  ranch  more 
may  the  cliief  part  and  as  it  were  the  very  root  of  all  Wealth,  be  advanced  to 
perfection  by  this  means  ?  This  Essay  tliereforc  is  but  an  Overture,  and  a  hint 
of  this  matter,  that  it  may  be  further  in  due  time  ripened,  and  with  more  mature 
considerations  brought  to  perfection,  for  the  good  of  the  Common-wealth,  and 
the  relief  of  the  poor  therein,  which  is  tlie  very  earnest  desire  of 

Thine  and  the  Publiques  Faithful  Servant, 
(1651)  Samuel  IIaktlib. 

propositions  for  advancement  of  husbandry-learning. 

In  humane  affairs,  and  which  relate  not  immediately  unto  God;  nothing  doth 
more  tend  unto  the  wcl-being  of  a  Nation  (God  giving  his  blessing  thereunto  in 
an  humble  and  right  use  of  it)  than  plenty  of  food  and  raiment,  and  of  all  other 
merchantable  commodities  to  send  abroad ;  which  will  not  faile  to  returne  the 
prosperity  and  happinesse  of  other  nations  again  in  exchange.  And  surely  a 
Nation  thus  blessed  can  want  no  earthly  comfort ;  but  will  doubtlesse  be  hated 
of  some,  feared  of  others,  and  sought  to  of  all.  But  neither  the  one,  nor  the 
other  of  these  are  any  other,  then  the  fruits  of  or  in  the  Earth:  and  those  are 
not  to  be  obtained  but  by  the  helpe  of  Ingenuitj'  and  Industry.  The  first  wisely 
teaching,  what  is  to  be  done ;  the  second  acting  according  to  those  good  and 
right  instructions  diligently  and  carefully.  By  the-se  two  (instrumentally)  we 
enjoy  all  outward  things;  and  without  them  nothing.  These  are  the  first 
movers  to  all  trades  and  professions  under  Heaven ;  and  particularly,  to  that 
most  auncient,  most  noble,  and  most  necessary  trade  of  all  others,  (viz.)  good 
Husbandry,  consisting  of  abundance  of  parts,  of  which  these  are  some. 

1.  Tillage,  or  Setting,  or  Sowing  of  several  sorts  of  come  and  graine,  for  the 
reliefe  and  sustenance  of  Man  and  Beast. 

2.  The  Breeding  of  Cattell,  (in  which  the  breeding  of  Sheepe  may  seem 
particular.) 

3.  The  feeding  of  Cattle 

4.  The  use  of  the  Dairy. 

5.  The  planting  of  Orchards. 

6.  The  planting  of  Gardens. 

I.  The  breeding  and  feeding  of  Swine. 

8.  The  breeding  and  feeding  of  the  Several  Sorts  of  tame  Poultry. 

9.  The  Planting  of  Hops. 

10.  The  Sowing  of  Hcmpe,  Flax,  or  Rape. 

II.  The  breeding,  preserving  and  taking  of  wilde  beasts,  as  Conies,  &c. 

12.  The  breeding,  preserving  or  taking  of  wildc  Fowlc,  particularly  of  Duckes 
iu  and  by  a  decoy. 

13.  The  Making  and  Managing  of  Rivers,  Moats,  Ponds,  &c.,  for  the  preserv- 
ing and  taking  fish  of  all  sorts  for  the  use  and  sustenance  of  Man. 

14.  The  planting  of  Woad.  and  all  outlandish  rare  or  extraordinary  Roots, 
fruits  or  plants. 

15.  The  dreining,  fencing,  mowing,  and  making  of  grasse  in  meadowes  into 
Hey. 

IG.  The  Making  of  Malt. 

17.  And  (that  now  so  exceeding  necessary  endeavor)  the  planting  all  sorts  of 
IVood  for  timber  or  fire. 
Besides,  very  many  others  whicli   I   fbrbeare  to  name,  as  either  not  so  easily 


A  COLLEGE  OF  HUSBANDRY.  193 

practicable  in  this  Nation,  or  included  in  or  subordinate  to  tne  lormer,  as  shear- 
ing of  Sheepe,  Thrashing  of  Corne,  &c ,  or  not  vulgarly  taken  for  the  parts  of 
Husbandry,  (though  indeed  they  are  so)  as  the  Digging  of  Coal-Pits,  and  pro- 
duction of  all  Minerals,  Quarries  of  Stone,  or  useful  earths,  &c.  As  these  are 
encouraged  and  enabled,  so  is  a  Nation  more  or  lesso  prosperous,  or  outwardly 
happy ;  both  these  in  their  distinct  natures  or  uses  are  most  excellent ;  and  are 
also  (at  least  ought  to  be)  inseparable  companions :  of  which  if  either  precede 
it  is  Ingenuity ;  for  that  Industry  as  it  is  distinct  from  Ingenuity,  can  do  noth- 
ing till  the  other  have  contrived  what  and  how.  Men  take  him  for  a  fool  or  a 
mad  man,  that  having  store  of  wealth  in  his  trunck,  doth  yet  complain  of  want. 
What  though  the  key  be  rusty  for  want  of  use  ?  'tis  easier  to  get  that  Scoured, 
than  to  obtaine  such  another  treasure.  And  surely  I  may  upon  most  sure 
grounds  say,  that  our  Native  Countrey,  hath  in  its  bowels  an  (even  almost)  in- 
finite, and  inexhaustible  treasure;  much  of  which  hath  long  laine  hid,  and  is 
but  new  begun  to  be  discovered.  It  may  seem  a  large  boast  or  meer  Hyperbole 
to  say,  "We  enjoy  it  not,  know  not,  use  not,  the  one-tenth  part  of  that  plenty  or 
wealth  and  happinesse,  that  our  earth  can,  and  (Ingenuity  and  Industry  well 
encouraged)  will  (by  God's  blessing)  yield. 

Now  whereas  there  hath  been  earnestly  desired  (in  the  mean  time,  till  the 
PubUque  Magistrate  shall  be  at  leasure,  to  give  a  more  strong  and  ample  en- 
couragement and  assistance  to  a  designe  so  exceedingly  for  the  Honour  and  ad- 
vancement of  the  whole  nation)  the  erection  of  a  private  Colledge  or  Society  of 
good  Husbandry ;  wherein  some  may  teach,  some  learne,  and  all  practise  the 
whole  and  every  part  of  this  so  honourable  an  art,  so  deep  a  mystery,  and  that 
not  onely  in  the  more  customary  and  common  way,  but  according  to  the  most 
excellent  rules,  that  Ingenuity  and  Experience  gained  by  rational  trials  and  real 
experiments  have  or  can  attaine  to ;  that  so  the  honour,  wealth,  and  happinea 
of  this  State  may  be  multiplied,  even  before  itself  is  aware,  and  the  duller  mem- 
bers thereof  worne  by  emulation  or  example  to  such  practises  for  their  own 
private  and  publique  good,  as  no  persueasion  nor  force  could  ever  have  effectu- 
ally led  them  to.  And  in  respect  that  there  are  already  divers  propositions 
made,  and  some  engagements  also  in  order  thereto ;  so  as  the  worke  hath  begun 
to  move,  and  is  dayly  advanced,  and  endeavored  to  be  advanced  by  some  such 
faithfull  branches;  as  first  and  chiefly  seek  the  prosperity  of  the  whole  stock, 
but  have  not  sufficient  power  in  their  owne  hands  to  go  through  with,  and  bring 
to  perfection  this  great  and  good  work ;  It  is  therefore  propounded.  First,  to 
those,  whose  great  wealth  is  joited  with  as  great  vertue  and  love  to  their  Coun- 
trey; And  will  as  weU  as  Power  to  advance  the  Publique  good,  without  seek- 
ing their  own  private  benefit. 

That  whereas  it  is  manifest,  that  such  a  colledge  or  society  can  not  be  erected 
without  the  l)uilding  or  buying  (at  least  a  long  lease  at  an  oasie  rent,  if  not  the 
inheritance)  of  some  large  and  convenient  house,  with  some  good  quantity  of 
land  adjoyuiug,  and  belonging  to  it,  (though  that  is  not  all  the  land  which  must 
be  had  for  this  purpose ;)  and  it  is  as  manifest  that  such  a  purchase  can  not  be 
made  without  good  sums  of  money. 

It  is  therefore  desired,  that  all  such  well-wishers  to  their  countrey's  wealth 
and  prosperity ;  be  pleased  to  contribute  such  sums  to  this  good  and  laudable 
worke,  as  in  their  own  wisdomes  and  bounties  appear  necessary,  and  deliver  the 
same  into  the  hands  of  Mr.  Samuel  Hartlib,  whose  abundant  zeale  for  the  pub- 
lique good,  renders  hhn  most  worthy  to  be  mtrusted  therewith,  till  there  shall 

13 


194 


A  COLLEGE  OF  IIUSBANDRy. 


be  a  competent  stock  obtained  for  the  setting  forward  of  this  great  and  good 
worko  before  mentioned:  and  to  subscribe  their  names  and  sums;  that  so  the 
whole  Society  (when  erected)  and  the  whole  nation  (when  in  due  time  they  shall 
have  tasted  the  sweet  eflects  from  hence  proceeding,)  may  know  to  whome  to 
render  all  due  thanks  through  all  ages,  as  to  the  bountiful  promoters  of,  by  con- 
tributing to  a  designe  so  much  conducing  to  the  good  of  the  present  and  pros- 
perity of  all  ages  to  come :  a  plentifull  reward  to  every  noble  spirit. 

It  is  therefore  also  propounded,  secondly: 

To  those  whose  good  wills  possibly  are  great,  but  their  powers  lesser  then  the 
former;  and  are  tiierefore  necessarily  withheld  from  such  free  and  voluntary 
contributing. 

That  whereas  the  knowledge  and  good  influence  of  the  actings  of  this  society 
and  its  members,  can  not  without  a  good  large,  and  considerable  stock  encrease 
in  its  number  and  power,  nor  cast  itselfe  into  all  the  formes  of  practise  in  the 
several  parts  of  this  art  before  mentioned,  or  that  may  be  mentioned :  and  for  want 
of  which,  the  maine  end  of  the  erection  of  this  Colledge  or  Society  would  not 
be  obtained,  viz.,  the  infusing  into  the  more  sturdy  Husbandmen  of  the  nation 
in  generall  (now  too  much  wedded  to  their  more  customary  and  lesser  profitable 
working)  the  more  perfect  principles  of  their  own  art,  and  such  additional  uses 
and  instruments,  as  shall  make  their  practises  more  national,  easie,  and  really 
effectual,  and  beneficial,  as  to  themselves :  so  to  the  advancement  and  encrease 
of  publique  plenty  and  wellfare.  It  is  therefore  offered,  that  whosoever  shall 
disburse  and  engage  any  sum,  for  the  encrease  of  that  stock,  and  consequently 
the  imployment  of  the  Society :  Shall  by  an  unerring,  unaltering  rule,  receive 
yearly ;  while  his  money  remaines  in  the  hands  of  the  Said  Colledge,  for  every 
100.  pound,  20.  pound,  and  so  for  a  greater  or  lesser  sum  proportionably.  And 
if  any  particular  person  shall  desire  to  have  his  sum  disbursed,  to  be  imployed 
in  any  one  particular  single  part  of  this  copious  art  here  before  mentioned;  he 
shall  have  his  desire  fulfill'd :  provided  that  his  stock  be  suflBcient  to  drive  on 
that  way ;  and  that  he  be  contented  to  forbeare  his  revenue  till  Nature  hath 
produced  the  retume.  And  whosoever  shall  thus  engage,  shall  at  any  time 
(upon  six  moneths  warning  given)  call  in  and  again  receive  his  sura  formerly 
disbursed.  And  all  those  that  shall  thus  engage,  are  desired  to  enter  their 
names  and  Sums,  by  subscribing  and  delivering  the  money  into  the  hands  of  Mr. 
Samuel  Hartlib.  And  for  security  they  shall  have ;  As  to  law,  the  Propounders 
bond ;  as  to  Love,  the  word  of  him  that  desires  to  prove  himselfe  a  just  and 
honest  Man,  to  God  and  man,  (to  his  utmost  power)  and  to  all  engagers  a  faith- 
ful Steward. 

PROPOSITIONS,  for  the  erecting  a  CoUedge  of  Husbandr}-:  and  in  order 
thereto  for  the  taking  in  of  Pupillsor  apprentices:  and  also  Friends  or  Fellowea 
of  the  Same  Colledge  or  Society. 

I  PROPOUND,  that  there  may  be  a  Colledge  or  School  of  all  the  sorts  and 
parts  of  good-Husbandry  erected ;  that  so  the  knowledge  and  practise  may  be- 
come more  universal,  and  men  may  have  more  sweet  invitations  and  stronger 
allurements,  to  seek  the  knowledge  of' this  deep  and  excellent  mystery;  and 
practise  it  to  the  advancement  of  a  more  general  and  Publique  good ;  Not  aa 
now  in  a  sordid  clownish  way  for  meer  selfe  profit;  nor  as  now  according  to 
unsound  and  rather  customary  than  rational  rules  and  grounds;  Nor  as  now  in 
a  dishonorable  drudging  way ;  which  indeed  is  the  grand  cause  that  hinders  or 
takes  off  the  most  ingenious  spirits  (which  yet  are  most  fit  to  be  engaged.)    For 


A  COLLEGE  OF  HUSBANDRY.  J  95 

it  is  plain,  that  the  chief  reason,  why  this  so  excellent  an  art,  hath  hitherto  ar- 
rived at  no  greater  perfection,  is ;  that  no  publique  course  of  incouragement  and 
high  prizing  the  same  hath  been  thought  of;  and  so  the  best  wits  shut  out,  that 
should  have  searched  it  out,  and  discovered  this  art  more  perfectly ;  which  once 
generally  known,  together  with  the  vast  advantages  thereby  arising,  as  to  the 
whole  Nation ;  so  to  every  particular  practitioner ;  we  need  not  fear  to  want 
disciples.  It  is  most  evident,  tliat  those  few  ingenious  persons,  that  have  looked 
into  the  wayes  of  improvement  (having  some  thing  also  to  work  upon)  of  late 
years  have  advanced  their  j^articular  interests  to  a  double  or  trebble  proportion. 
I  am  very  confident,  that  those  very  improvements  may  again  be  doubled  by 
yet  better  wayes. 

That  therefore  Ingenuity  may  be  ransomed  from  her  too  tedious  captivity ; 
and  Industry  awaked  from  a  kind  of  lethargie ;  occasioned  through  wonted  dis- 
content ;  I  Propound  more  particularly,  (to  lay  a  little  foundation  for  such  a 
Colledge  or  Society,  which  I  doubt  not,  time,  emulation,  and  my  own  profit,  wiU 
agree  to  finisii,)  That  If  any  person  of  quality  have  a  son  or  kins-man  15  years 
old  or  upwards,  with  whom  he  will  give  (besides  well  suiting  him  with  all  neces- 
sary wearing  apparel,  and  more,  to  the  value  of  twenty  marks;  iu  such  other 
necessaries,  as  the  undertaker  shall  appoint)  601.  Is.  in  ready  (£  I  suppose) — ■ 
money  at  his  first  entrance,  and  bind  him  apprentice  for  seven  years ;  he  shall 
be  in  that  time  faithfully  instructed  in  both  the  Theorick  and  Practick  parts  of 
this  (of  all  others)  most  auncient,  noble,  and  honestly  gainfull  art,  Trade,  or 
Mystery.  And  at  the  end  of  that  time,  he  shall  receive  at  one  entire  payment 
to  set  up  withal,  300  pound.  And  shall  for  foure  years  next  ensuing  the  end 
of  the  said  seven  years,  receive  at  the  end  of  every  year  100.  pound  more;  the 
better  to  support  him  till  he  have  taken  sufficient  root. 

Note,  That  none  are  to  be  actually  entertained  till  there  be  at  least  10.  en- 
tered; at  which  entrance,  they  are  to  pay  onely  10.  pound  apiece,  and  for  farther 
performances  reciprocal  Subscriptions.  And  when  there  are  10.  entered,  they 
are  all  to  be  ready  upon  a  monetlis  warning  to  appear,  pay  down  the  other  50. 
pound  apiece. 

Note,  That  not  above  361.  will  be  entertained  at  first,  neither  afterwards ;  but 
as  by  death,  expiration  of  time,  &c.,  there  shall  happen  to  be  some  wanting  of 
that  Number. 

Into  tliis  Colledge  also  any  man  may  enter  himselfe  as  a  free-man,  or  friend 
to,  and  Member  of  the  Society;  upon  the  following  conditions. 

1.  He  must  pay  down  at  his  entrance  50.  pouud,  as  given  to  the  Society  for 
the  encouragement  of  Ingenuity  in  the  practise  of  Experiments,  for  the  obtain- 
ing of  yet  more  and  more  perfection  in  this  (almost)  infinite  Science. 

2.  He  must  bring  with  him  some  skill,  at  least  Ingenuity;  and  testifie  himself 
to  be  a  well- wilier  to  the  profession  and  professors  of  Good-Husbandry ;  and 
particularly  to  the  Master  and  Fellowcs  of  this  Society. 

3.  He  must  produce  at  least  250.  pound  as  a  Stock  to  set  up  for  Himselfe,  to 
be  driven  by  himselfe.  according  to  the  best  direction  and  assistance  to  be  given 
by  the  Master  and  Fellowes  of  the  Colledge. 

4.  He  shall  (not  Swear,  but)  Subscribe  himself  under  hand  and  Seale,  a  faith- 
ful seeker  of  the  advancement  of  the  Mystery  and  Society ;  and  to  bo  aiding  and 
assisting,  to  the  Master  and  the  Fellowes  to  his  power,  at  all  times,  and  iu  all 
cases,  (his  own  interest  alwayes  preserved)  and  to  consent  and  submit  to  all  such 
orders,  as  shall  be  from  time  to  time  made,  by  the  agreement  of  the  Master  and 


19G  A  COLLEGE  OF  HUSBANDRY. 

tlie  major  part  of  the  Fellowes  of  tlie  said  Colledge,  for  and  concerning  the 
same  Society,  and  to  stand  to  their  award  in  any  case  of  difference :  and  not 
directly  or  indirectly  to  discover  all  or  any  part  of  the  same  art,  or  Mystery  to 
any  person  whatsoever,  upon  any  pretence  whatsoever,  without  their  consent 
first  had  and  obtained. 

5.  He  must  be  alwayes  in  commons  at  the  Hall  of  the  said  Society ;  at  the 
rate  of  8s.  per  week,  or  such  other  rates  more  or  lesse,  as  the  then  present  state 
of  things  shall  require.  And  he  is  alwayes  to  pay  off  all  arreares  at  the  end  of 
each  moneth  at  the  farthest,  without  any  deductions  for  absence  how  long  or 
short  soever.  But  if  he  keep  a  servant  (who  must  also  be  in  commons  when 
present)  ho  shall  bo  allowed  to  deduct  for  his  absence.  As  also  ho  is  not  to  be 
accomptable  to  the  stable  for  his  horse  when  absent. 

6.  He  shall  at  his  first  entrance,  pay  for  himselfe  10.  pound,  for  his  servant  5. 
pound,  for  his  horse  40s.  for  their  habitation ;  besides  providing  for  all  necessary 
furniture ;  but  be  ever  after  free  till  death  or  departure. 

7.  Lastly,  he  must  be  a  single  man;  and  if  he  shall  at  any  time  marry,  he  is 
from  thenceforth  to  be  accompted  dead  to  the  Society,  to  all  intents  and  pur- 
poses whatsoever ;  save  onely  in  point  of  debt  or  discovery. 

Honored  Sir, — 

The  more  I  fiude  and  consider  of  the  generall  backwardnesse  of  men,  to 
accept  or  joine  with  me  in  the  wayes  by  me  propounded,  for  Mutual  Prosperity; 
the  more  I  am  taught  to  view  and  review  the  things  propounded,  and  that  im- 
partially. In  order  to  this,  I  finde  upon  enquiry,  that  the  maine  objectioua 
against  what  I  offer  are  three,  viz : — 

First,  The  supposed  impossibility  of  performing  (on  my  part)  the  thing 
promised. 

Secondly,  The  Newne.sse  of  the  Invention  or  Contrivance,  which  renders  it 
w-it])in  the  list  of  things  suspected. 

Thirdly,  The  non  appearance  of  any  such  good  security  as  is  held  sufficient  to 
encourage  men  to  joyne  with  me  freely,  fully  and  speedily  (that  is,  seasonably,) 
to  these  I  answer  thus : — 

First,  upon  most  assured,  and  generally  experimented  grounds  I  affirme;  that 
one  acre  of  good  ground  to  be  sowed  with  wheate  in  the  more  usuall  way  of 
Husbandry,  will  (one  place  in  this  nation  with  another)  require  the  charges  or 
expence  following,  viz.,  for  rent  13s.  id.  Dung  24  loads  at  Is.  3d.  per  load  £1 
10s.  Seed  9  pecks,  usually  worth  13s.  6d.  (now  more)  twice  ploughing,  sowing, 
harrowing,  &c.,  usually  10s.  (now  more,)  for  weeding  3s.,  for  reaping,  &c.,  6s.  8d. 
for  fencing  one  (acre  amongst  many,)  3s.  Ad.  Which  in  all  amounts  to  £3.  19s. 
lOd  Out  of  which  deduct  20s.  which  will  remaine  to  be  accompted  with  the  fol- 
lowing crops,  in  respect  of  the  vertue  of  the  Dung  remaining  still  in  the  land. 
Thus  the  charge  of  sowing  one  acre  of  "Wheat,  amounts  to  2  pound  19s.  lOd., 
and  for  the  returne  of  this,  it  is  not  unusuall  to  have  3,  4  or  5  quarters :  but  take 
it  at  the  lesser,  and  more  generally  certain  rate,  of  three  quarters  on  an  acre, 
and  value  that  at  the  more  constant  and  lesser  price  of  5s.  a  bushel,  or  405.  a 
qr.,  yet  the  returne  amounts  to  6  pound,  which  is  double  to  the  charge.  I  could 
illustrate  this  with  many  other  examples  as  full,  but  let  this  suffice. 

To  the  second  I  say,  that  the  newnesse  of  my  better  way  of  planting  or  dis- 
posing of  Corne  into  the  ground,  so  as  (God  blessing  my  endeavors)  to  obtaine 
a  yet  greater  increase ;  is  so  farre  (well  weighed)  from  being  a  reason  to  Imider; 


A  COLLEGE  OF  HUSBANDRY.  197 

that  it  is  to  me,  and  may  be  to  others  (when  once  rightly  understood)  a  spurre 
to  hasten  towards  such  an  engagement  or  conjunction :  When  it  is  considered 
that  the  invention  is  yet  our  own,  entirely;  and  consequently  the  most  just  and 
ready  vmy  to  wealth  and  all  that  outward  honor  and  happiness  (that  accom- 
panies riches  well  gotten)  is  open  to  us,  and  to  us  principally ;  we  having  the 
opportunity  (while  we  prepare  for,  and  open  the  door  to  so  great  a  Publique 
Good.)  to  christen  our  own  childe  first,  (as  they  say)  which  also  is  most  lawM 
and  appointed,  that  the  ox  that  treadeth  out  the  fodder,  shall  not  be  muzled. 
Which  of  all  those  (almost  infinite)  wayes  or  means,  by  which  man  hath  been 
made  instrumental  to  tlje  increase  of  his  own  well-bemg,  was  not  in  one  age  or 
other,  as  Nkw  as  this  Invention  of  mine  doth  seem  to  be  in  this  ?  Ceartainly  it 
is  not  the  Newnesse,  but  the  Vanity  or  Invalidity  of  any  Invention,  that  layes 
it  open  to  the  dislike  of  the  more  wise  and  noble  persons :  or  if  the  newnesse 
of  an  invention  can  any  way  render  it  fit  to  be.  Suspected,  it  is  onely  in  such 
as  being  altogether  new,  seem  also  to  disagree  with  natural  reason,  and  treade 
quite  beside  the  path  of  experience ;  of  this  kinde  it  would  be,  if  a  man  should 
pretend  to  make  bread  of  stones ;  but  to  say,  that  I  can  make  more  or  better 
bread  of  the  same  wheate,  will  appear  impossible  to  none  but  inconsiderate 
persons.  And  the  thing  which  I  hold  forth  is  nothing  else,  but  to  screw  the 
most  profound  mystery  of  good  Husbandry  a  note  or  two  Higher ;  but  to  do 
the  same  thing  by  a  better  way,  and  to  more  advantage. 

To  the  third  and  last,  before  I  answer  I  will  so  farre  digresse,  as  to  enquire, 
■what  is  or  can  be  here  meant  by  security  ?  If  it  be  required  in  the  most  high 
and  strict  sence,  'tis  vaiue  and  impossible  to  be  had  in  humane  aflaires,  and  is 
not  to  be  had  or  hoped  for  in  this  world,  where  the  moth  and  rust  do  corrupt, 
and  where  thieves  break  through  and  steal :  this  is  only  to  be  had  in  Heaven ; 
and  can  be  no  way  procured  on  earth ;  but  by  laying  up  the  treasures  of  good 
workes:  therefore  he  that  will  put  forth  his  money  upon  good  security  indeed, 
must  vent  it  in  the  wayes  of  Charity  and  Piety,  as  relating  to  God's  glory  and 
his  soules  eternal  happinesse;  at  least  in  a  way  of  bounty  and  noblenesse  for 
the  Publique  good  of  his  neighbour  and  native  countrye,  as  relating  to  his  good 
fame  after  death.  But  if  by  security  be  meant  something  more  moderate  and 
mgenuous,  onely  a  providential  care  to  defend  a  man"s  sell'e  from  being  abused ; 
60  farre  as  such  prosecutions  are  just,  and  agreeable  to  good  reason,  and  the 
nature  of  the  thing  in  question.  I  allow;  and  approve  of  it  altogether;  but 
not  when  it  rather  proceeds  from  forwardnesses  base  and  groundlesse  suspition, 
and  a  naturall  aversness  and  enmity  to  all-  good.  Thus  when  a  man  lends  to 
another  Politically  as  a  meer  man,  he  requires  bills,  bonds,  morgages,  or  the 
like.  But  if  he  gives  he  doth  not  so,  neither  if  he  lend  to  the  poor,  or  to  per- 
sons so  just,  that  he  esteems  their  word  sufficient.  I  suppose  there  are  very 
many  in  London,  that  do  frequently  take  up  great  sums  without  giving  any 
formal  security ;  nay  that  would  take  it  for  a  great  aflront  to  have  such  a  thing 
required  of  them ;  and  yet  surely  it  is  no  absolute  miracle  to  see  such  a  one 
break:  why  then  are  men  so  easie  in  that,  and  so  difficult  in  this?  or  is  it  for 
the  Mutuid  advance  of  Trade  ?  Why,  that  very  argument  serves  here  too ;  un- 
lesse  they  be  resolved  to  advance  no  trade  but  their  own.  And  even  that  also 
comes  in  here ;  for  what  trade  can  more  advance  the  Engagers  Private,  then 
that  which  is  faithfully  driven  on  for  the  properity  of  him  and  his  posterity  ?  or 
what  can  more  magnify  a  great  and  populous  city,  then  to  stand  in  the  midst 


19S  A  COLLEGE  OF  HUSBANDRY. 

of  a  fertile  soile,  that  afibrds  lier  plenty  and  abundance  of  all  good  things, 
which  is  already  the  happinespe  of  London?  and  tliis  happincsse  shall  by 
this  meanes,  by  God's  blessing  given  unto  and  upon  tliis  means,  be  continually 
encreased. 

Again,  it  ia  rationall  when  men  lend  money  for  little  or  no  advantage  to 
themselves,  but  oncl}'  to  do  their  friend  a  courtesie,  it  is  but  reasonable,  that 
they  should  by  all  good  meanes  secure  the  repayment  of  their  priucipall.  But 
when  men  put  forth  their  moneys  in  hope  of  great  advantage,  they  must,  and 
do  usually  forbear  to  stand  upon  such  precise  security ;  rightly  considering, 
that  God's  providence  is  (as  the  best  inheritance,  so  also)  the  best  security  that 
can  be  named,  and  will  not  faile  to  returne  with  a  blessing  any  thing  that  shall 
be  thereto  intrusted  faithfully.  Thus,  what  other  security  (more  then  rational 
probabilities)  hath  the  souldier;  that  ventures  his  hfe,  limbs,  liberty  and  all,  and 
this  without  any  other  security  than  a  good  conscience  (or  a  good  confidence  at 
least)  in  life  or  death ;  resting  in  that  successe  the  Lord  of  Hoasts  shall  please 
to  appoint. 

Thus  the  merchant  puts  (if  not  always  him^lfe:  yet)  his  estate  into  a  weak 
wooden  vessel :  and  commits  it  to  the  mercy  of  the  winds  and  waves,  having 
set  up  his  rest  in  the  goodnesse  of  that  God  that  parted  the  Ked-Sea  by  hia 
power.  Thus,  the  mineralist  layes  out  much  money  in  sincking  his  pits  and 
quarries,  onely  in  hope  to  finde  that  richer  veme  he  conceives  to  be  there. 
Thus  the  patient  commits  his  life,  health  and  case,  (under  God)  into  the  physi- 
tians  hands,  as  relying  on  his  care  and  skill.  I  say,  that  all  these,  and  many 
more,  even  all  men  in  almost  all  humane  actions,  runne  some  kind  of  hazard; 
and  more  or  lesse  do  and  must  depend  upon  God's  mercy  and  Man's  integrity, 
without  any  other  outward  formal  security.  Thus  also  do  I  propound  (and  that 
upon  probabilities  as  certain  and  rational  (if  not  more  as  any  of  these)  that  wo 
may  agree,  engage,  and  sowe  in  hope ;  that  that  God  that  never  sufiers  hope 
(rightly  placed)  to  be  frustrate ;  may  make  us  return  and  bear  our  sheafes  with 
us,  may  make  our  valleys  stand  so  thick  with  corne,  that  they  shall  laugh  and 
sing.  "Which  that  it  may  be  thus,  shall  alwayes  be  the  faithfull  desire  and  ear- 
nest prayer  of,  Sir, 

Your  most  obliged,  fnithfuU,  and  humbly 

thankfull  friend  and  Servant. 

Sir, — By  what  is  above  said,  and  by  many  other  very  evident  reasons,  it  is 
or  may  be  proved,  that  in  such  a  case  as  this,  it  is  not  much  rational  to 
demand  any  other  security  than  the  Propounders  own  obligation  for  perform- 
ance of  covenants.  Yet  that  all  men  may  know,  that  my  intentions  are  fair 
and  just,  and  my  aimes  not  simply  at  my  own  private  profit ;  but  that  I,  also 
much  more  desire  the  prosperity  of  my  nation,  and  of  all  persons  that  shall 
joyne  with  me,  I  offer  and  am  content,  that  if  the  subscribers  and  consequently 
engagers  .shall  think  fit  to  meet,  and  among.st  tliemselves  chuse  tliree  such  as  I  • 
shall  also  like  of,  I  will  endeavor  to  give  them  (in  the  behalf,  and  as  the  Trus- 
tees of  and  for  all  the  rest,)  some  more  plain  and  satisfactory  security,  which  ia 
impossible  to  be  done,  to  every  particular  person,  that  shall  perhaps  underwrite 
and  engage  onely  25.  pound,  or  some  such  sum. 


PLAN  OF  A  TRADE  OR  INDUSTRIAL  SCHOOL. 

EXTRACTS    FROM    "  THE    ADVICE    OF    W.    P.    TO    MR.    SAMUEL    HARTLIBj"    FOR   THB 
ADVANCEMENT    OF   SOME    PARTICULAR    PARTS    OF    LEARNING. 

LONDON,    PRINTED,    A.  D.    1647. 


In  the  "  Epistle  dedicatory  to  his  honored  friend  Master  Samuel 
Hartlib,"  W.  P.  (afterwards  Sir  William  Petty,)  the  founder  of  the 
Lansdowne  family,  says  : — 

"I  have  had  many  tlying  thoughts,  concerning  the  advancement  of  reall 
learning  in  generall,  but  particularly  of  the  education  of  youtli,  Mathematicks, 
Mechanicks,  Physicks,  and  concerning  the  History  of  Art  and  Nature,  with  some 
more  serious  ones  concerning  your  owne  most  excellent  advices  for  an  Office  of 
Public  Addresse.*  And  indeed  they  were  but  flying  thoughts,  for  seeing  what 
vast  summes  were  requisite  to  carry  on  those  designes,  and  how  unwilling  or 
unable  men  generally  were  to  contribute  towards  them,  I  thought  it  but  labour 
lost  to  fix  my  mind  much  upon  them." 

The  "  Advice,"  begins  as  follows : — 

"  To  give  an  exact  definition  or  nice  division  of  Learning,  or  of  the  advance- 
ment thereof^  we  shall  not  undertake  (it  being  already  so  accurately  done  by  the 
great  Lord  Verulam.)  Intending  only  to  shew  where  our  owne  shoe  pincheth 
us,  or  to  point  at  some  pieces  of  knowledge,  the  improvement  whereof,  (as  we 
at  least  conceive)  would  make  much  to  the  generall  good  and  comfort  of  all 
mankind,  and  withall  to  "deliver  our  owne  opinion  by  wliat  meanes  they  may  be 
raised  some  one  degree  neerer  to  perfection. 

But  before  we  can  meddle  with  this  great  work,  we  must  first  think  of  get- 
ting labourers,  by  appointing  some  generall  rendevouz  where  all  men  either  able 
or  willing  to  take  up  armes  against  the  many  difficulties  thereof,  may  finde 
entertainment. 

That  is  to  say,  we  must  recommend  the  Institution  of  an  Office  of  common 
Addresse,  according  to  the  projection  of  Master  Hartlib,  (that  painfull  and  great 
instrument  of  this  designe)  whereby  the  wants  and  desires  of  all  may  bee  made 
knowne  unto  all,  where  men  may  know  what  is  already  done  in  the  businesso 
of  Learning,  what  is  at  present  in  doing  and  what  is  intended  to  be  done :  to 
the  end,  that  by  such  a  generall  communication  of  designes  and  mutuall  assist- 
ance ;  the  wits  and  endeavours  of  the  world  may  no  longer  be  as  so  many  scat- 
tered coales  or  fire-brands,  which  for  want  of  union,  are  soone  quenched, 
whereas  being  but  layed  together  they  would  have  yielded  a  comfortable  light 
and  heat.  For  methinkcs  the  present  condition  of  men  is  like  a  field,  where  a 
battle  hath  becne  lately  fought,  where  we  may  see  many  leggs,  and  armes,  and 
eyes  lying  here  and  there,  which  for  want  of  a  union  and  a  soule  to  quicken 

*  In  1643,  Hartlib  presenter!  a  Memorial  to  the  two  Houses  of  Parliament  for  the  establish- 
ment of  an  OfTiee  of  Public  or  Common  Address — A  sort  of  Universal  Exchange  of  Demand 
and  Supply,  which  Memorial  was  afterwards  embodied  in  a  pamphlet  of  31  quarto  pages. 


200  PLAN  OF  AN  INDUSTRIAL  SCHOOL. 

and  enliven  them,  arc  good  for  notliing  but  to  feed  Ravens ;  and  infect  the  aire. 
So  we  see  many  wittcs  and  ingenuities  lying  scattered  up  and  downe  the  world, 
whereof  some  are  now  labouring  to  do  what  is  already  done,  and  pusling  them- 
selves to  reinvent  what  is  already  invented.  Others  we  see  quite  stuck  fast  in 
difficulties,  for  want  of  a  few  directions,  which  some  othre  man  (might  he  bo 
met  withall)  both  could  and  would  most  easily  give  him ;  againe  one  man 
wants  a  small  summe  of  mony,  to  carry  on  some  designe,  that  requires  it,  and 
there  is  perhaps  another,  who  hath  twice  as  much  ready  to  bestow  on  the  same 
designe,  but  these  two  having  no  meanes  ever  to  heare  the  one  of  the  other,  the 
good  work  intended  and  desired,  by  both  parties  doth  utterly  perish  and  come 
to  nothing :  but  this  we  passe  over  sleightly,  though  very  fundamentale  to  our 
busiuesse,  because  the  master-builder  thereof  himself  hath  done  it  so  solidly. 
Having  by  this  meanes  procured  workmen  and  what  else  is  necessary  to  the 
worke,  that  which  we  would  have  them  to  labour  in,  is,  how  to  fiude  out  such 
arts  as  are  yet  undiscovered,  how  to  learne  what  is  already  known,  by  more 
compendious  and  facile  wayes,  and  to  apply  it  to  more,  and  those  more  noble 
uses,  how  to  work  in  men  an  higher  esteeme  of  learning  so  as  to  give  occasion, 
encouragement,  and  opportunity  to  more  men  to  apply  themselves  to  its  advance- 
ment.    The  next  thing  then  to  be  done,  will  be : — 

1.  To  see  what  is  well  and  sufiBciently  done  already,  exploding  whatsoever  is 
nice,  contentious,  and  meerly  phantasticall.  All  which  must  in  some  measure  be 
suppressed  and  brought  into  disgrace  and  contempt  with  all  men. 

2.  This  survey  may  be  made  by  perusing  all  books,  and  taking  notice  of  all 
mechanicall  inventions. 

3.  In  this  perusall,  all  the  Real  or  Experimentall  Learning  may  be  sifted  and 
collected  out  of  the  said  books. 

4.  There  must  be  appointed  able  readers  of  all  such  books,  with  certaine  and 
well  limited  directions  what  to  collect  out  of  them. 

5.  Every  book  must  be  so  read  by  two  severall  persons  apart,  to  prevent  mis- 
takes and  failings  from  the  said  directions. 

6.  The  directions  for  reading  must  be  such,  as  the  readers  observing  them, 
may  exactly  agree  in  their  collections. 

7.  Out  of  all  these  bookes,  one  booke  or  great  work  may  be  made,  though 
consisting  of  many  volumes. 

8.  The  most  artificiall  indices,  tables  or  other  helps,  for  the  ready  finding  re- 
membering, and  well  understanding  all  things  contained  in  these  bookes  must 
be  contrived  and  put  in  practice. 

Having  thus  taken  the  height  or  pitch  whereunto  al  arts  and  sciences  whatso- 
ever, are  already  come;  and  observed  where  they  now  stick,  the  ablest  men  in 
every  respective  faculty  must  be  set  apart,  to  drive  them  on  further  with  suffi- 
cient maintenance  and  encouragement  for  the  same. 

Whereunto  it  is  requisite  that  two  or  three,  one  under  another,  be  employed 
about  each  faculty,  to  the  end  that  some  of  them  dying,  or  any  otherwise  failing, 
there  may  never  want  men  acquainted  with  the  whole  designe,  and  able  to  carry 
it  on,  with  the  help  of  others  to  be  admitted  under  them ;  and  that  at  least 
yearly  accompts  bo  taken  of  those  mens  endeavors,  and  rewards  bo  proportioned 
to  them  accordingly.  And  now  we  shall  think  of  whetting  our  tooles,  and  pre- 
paring sharp  instruments  for  this  hard  work,  by  delivering  our  thoughts  con- 
cerning education,  which  are, 

1.  That  there  be  instituted  Ergastula  Liieraria,  literary-work-housc,  where 


PLAN  OF  AN  INDUSTRIAL  SCHOOL.  £01 

children  may  be  taught  as  well  to  doe  something  towards  their  Uving,  as  to  read 
and  write. 

2.  That  the  business  of  education  be  not  (as  now)  committed  to  the  worst  and 
unwortbiest  of  men,  but  that  it  be  seriously  studied  and  practised  by  the  best 
and  abler  persons.  That  all  children  of  above  seven  yeares  old  may  be  presented 
to  this  kind  of  education,  none  being  to  be  excluded  by  reason  of  the  poverty 
and  unability  of  their  parents,  for  hereby  it  hath  come  to  passe,  that  many  are 
now  holding  the  plough,  which  might  have  beene  made  fit  to  steere  the  state. 
Wherefore  let  such  poor  children  be  imployed  on  works  whereb}'  they  may  earne 
their  hving,  equall  to  their  strength  and  understanding,  and  such  as  they  may 
performe  as  well  as  elder  and  abler  persons,  viz.,  attending  engines,  &c.  And 
if  they  can  not  get  their  whole  living,  and  their  parents  can  contribute 
nothing  at  all  to  make  it  up,  let  them  stay  somewhat  the  longer  in  the 
work-house. 

That  since  few  children  have  need  of  reading  before  they  know,  or  can  be 
acquainted  with  the  things  they  read  of]  or  of  writing,  before  their  thoughts  are 
worth  the  recording,  or  they  are  able  to  put  them  into  any  forme  (which  we  call 
inditing)  much  lesse  of  learning  Languages,  when  there  bee  books  enough  for 
their  present  use  in  their  owne  mother  tongue ;  our  opinion  is,  that  those  things 
being  withall  somewhat  above  their  capacity,  (as  being  to  be  attained  by  judge- 
ment, which  is  weakest  in  children)  be  deferred  awhile,  and  others  more  needful 
for  them,  such  as  are  in  the  order  of  nature  before  those  afore  mentioned,  and 
are  attainable  by  the  help  of  memory,  wich  is  either  most  strong  or  unprcoccu- 
pied  in  children,  be  studied  before  them.  We  wish  therefore  that  the  educands 
be  taught  to  observe  and  remember  all  sensible  objects  and  actions,  whether  they 
be  naturall  or  artificiall,  which  the  educators  must  upon  all  occasions  expound 
unto  them.  That  they  use  such  exercises,  whether  in  work,  or  for  recreation, 
as  tend  to  the  health,  agility  and  strength  of  their  bodies. 

That  they  be  taught  to  read  by  much  more  compendious  meanes  then  are  in 
common  use,  which  is  a  thing  certainly  very  easie  and  feasible.  That  they  be 
not  onely  tauglit  to  write  according  to  our  common  way,  but  also  to  write  switlly 
and  in  reall  characters,  as  likewise  the  dextrous  use  of  the  instruments  for 
writing  many  copies  of  the  same  thing  at  once. 

That  the  artificiall  memory  he  thought  upon,  and  if  the  precepts  thereof  be 
not  too  farre  above  childrens  capacities.  We  conceive  it  not  improper  for  them 
to  learn  that  also.  That  in  no  case  the  art  of  drawing  and  designing  be  omitted, 
to  what  course  of  life  soever  those  children  are  to  be  applied.  Since  the  use 
thereof  for  expressing  the  conceptions  of  the  mind,  seemes  (at  least  to  us)  to  be 
little  inferiour  to  that  of  writing,  and  in  many  cases  performeth  what  by  words 
is  impossible. 

That  the  Elements  of  Arithmetick  and  Geometry  be  by  all  studied,  being  not 
onely  of  great  and  frequent  use  in  all  humane  affaires,  but  also  sure  guides  and 
helps  to  reason,  and  especiall  remedies  for  a  volatile  and  unstedy  mind.  That 
efifectuall  courses  be  taken  to  try  the  abilities  of'tlio  bodies  and  miuds  of  chil- 
dren, the  strength  of  their  memory,  inclinations  of  their  affections  either  to  vice 
or  vertue,  and  to  which  of  them  in  particular,  and  withall  to  alter  what  is  bad 
in  them,  and  increase  and  improve  what  is  good,  applying  all,  whether  good  or 
bad,  to  the  least  inconveniencie  and  most  advantage. 

That  such  as  shall  have  need  to  learne  forraine  languages,  (the  use  whereof 
would  be  much  lessened  were  the  rcall  and  common  characters  brought  into 


202  PLAN  OF  AN  INDUSTRIAL  SCHOOL. 

practice)  may  be  taught  them  by  incomparably  more  easio  ways  then  are  now 
usuall. 

That  no  ignoble,  unnecessary,  or  condemned  part  of  learning  bo  taught  in 
those  houses  of  education.  So  that  if  any  man  shall  vainely  fall  upon  them  he 
himselfe  onely  may  be  blamed. 

That  such  as  have  any  nalurall  abihty  and  filnesse  to  musick  be  encouraged 
and  instructed  therein. 

That  all  children,  though  of  the  highest  rauke,  be  taught  some  gentile  manu- 
facture in  their  minority.     Such  as  are, 

Turning  of  curious  figures. 

Making  Mathematical!  instruments.  Dialls  and  how  to  use  them  in  astronom- 
icall  observations. 

Making  Watches  and  other  Trochilick  motions. 

Limning  and  painting  on  Glass,  or  in  Oile  colors. 

Graving,  Etching,  Carvmg,  Embossing,  and  Molding  in  sundry  matters. 

The  Lapidaries  art  of  knowing,  cutting  and  setting  Jewells. 

Grinding  of  Glasses  Dioptricall,  and  Catoptricall. 

Botanicks,  and  Gardening. 

Making  Musical  Instruments. 

Navarchy  and  making  Modells  for  buildings  and  rigging  of  ships. 

Architecture  and  making  Modells  for  houses. 

The  Confectioners,  Perfumers,  or  Dier's  arts. 

Chymistry,  refining  Metalls  and  counterfeiting  Jewells. 

Anatomy,  making  skeletons,  and  excarnating  bowells. 

Making  Mariners  Compasses,  Globes,  and  other  magnetick  devices. 

And  all  for  these  reasons : — 

1.  They  shall  be  lesse  subject  to  cousened  by  the  artificers. 

2.  They  will  become  more  industrious  in  generall. 

3.  They  will  certainly  bring  to  passe  most  excellent  works,  being  as  gentle- 
men, ambitious  to  excell  ordinarie  workmen. 

4.  They  being  able  to  make  experiments  themselves,  may  doe  it  with  lesse 
charge,  and  more  care  than  others  will  doe  it  for  them. 

5.  The  Resp.  Artium,  will  be  much  advanced,  when  such  as  are  rich  and  able, 
are  also  willing  to  make  Luciferous  experiments. 

6.  It  may  engage  them  to  be  Mecsenates  and  Patrons  of  Arts. 

1.  It  will  keepe  them  from  worse  occasions  of  spending  their  time  and 
estates. 

8.  As  it  will  be  a  great  ornament  in  prosperity',  so  it  will  be  a  great  refuge 
and  stay  in  adversity,  and  common  calamity. 

As  for  what  remaines  of  Education,  we  can  not  but  hope  that  those,  whom 
we  have  desired  should  make  it  their  trade,  will  supply  it,  and  render  the  idea 
thereof  much  more  perfect. 

We  have  already  recommended  the  studie  of  Arithmetick  and  Geometry  to 
all  men  in  generall,  but  they  being  the  best  grounded  parts  of  speculative 
knowledge,  and  of  so  vast  use  in  all  practicall  arts.  We  can  not  but  commend 
deeper  enquiries  into  them.  And  although  the  way  of  advancing  them  in 
particular,  may  be  drawne  from  what  we  have  already  delivered,  concerning  the 
advancement  of  learning  in  generall,  yet  for  tlio  more  explicite  understanding 
our  meaning  herein,  we  referre  to  Master  Pells  most  excellent  idea  therejf 
written  to  Master  Harthb. 


PLAN  OP  AN  INDUSTRIAL  SCHOOL.  203 

In  the  next  place  for  the  advancement  of  all  Mechanicall  Arts  and  Manufac- 
tures. We  wish  that  there  were  erected  a  Gymnasinm,  Mechanicum,  or  a 
Colledge  of  Trades-men  (or  for  more  expedition  untill  such  a  place  could  be 
built,  that  the  most  convenient  houses  for  such  a  purpose  may  be  either  bought 
or  hired)  wherein  we  would  that  one  at  least  of  every  trade  (but  the  prime 
most  ingenious  work-men,  the  most  desirous  to  improve  his  art,)  might  be 
allowed  therein,  a  handsom  dwelling  rent  free.  Which  with  the  credit  of  being 
admitted  into  this  Society,  and  the  quick  sale  which  certainly  they  would  have 
of  their  commodities,  when  all  men  would  repaire  thither,  as  to  a  market  of  rare 
and  exquisite  pieces  of  work-manship,  would  be  a  sufficient  motive  to  attract 
the  very  ablest  mechanicks,  and  such  as  we  have  described,  to  desire  a  fellow- 
ship in  this  College. 

From  this  Institution  we  may  clearly  hope  when  the  excellent  in  all  arts  are 
not  onely  neighbours,  but  intimate  friends  and  brethren,  united  in  a  common 
desire  and  zeal  to  promote  them,  that  all  trades  will  miraculously  prosper,  and 
new  inventions  would  be  more  frequent,  then  new  fashions  of  clothes  and 
household-stuffe.  Here  would  be  the  best  and  most  effectuall  opportunities  and 
meanes,  for  writing  a  History  of  Trades  in  perfection  and  exactnesse,  and  what 
experiments  and  stuffe  would  all  those  shops  and  operations  afford  to  active  and 
philosophicall  heads.  Out  of  which,  to  extract  that  interpretation  of  nature, 
whereof  there  is  so  little,  and  that  so  bad  as  yet  extant  in  the  world?  Within 
the  walls  of  this  Gymnasium  or  CoUege  should  be  a  Nosocomium  Academicum 
according  to  the  most  exact  and  perfect  idea  thereof  a  compleate  Theatrum 
Botauicum,  stalls  and  cages  for  all  strange  beastes  and  birds,  with  ponds  and 
conservatories  for  all  exotick  fishes,  here  all  animalls  capable  thereof  should  be 
made  fit  for  some  kind  of  labor  and  imployment,  that  they  may  as  well  be  of 
use  living  as  dead ;  here  should  be  a  Repositorie  of  all  kind  of  rarities. 

Naturall  and  artificiall  pieces  of  antiquity.  Modells  of  all  great  and  noble  en- 
gines, with  designes  and  platformes  of  gardens  and  buildings.  The  most  artifi- 
ciall fountaines  and  water-works.  A  library  of  select  books,  an  astronomicall 
observatory  for  celestiall  bodies  and  meteors,  large  pieces  of  ground  for  severall 
experiments  of  agriculture.  Galleries  of  the  rarest  paintings  and  statues,  with 
the  fairest  globes  and  geographical  maps,  of  the  best  descriptions,  and  so  farre 
as  is  possible,  we  would  have  this  place  to  be  the  epitome  or  abstract  of  the 
whole  world.  So  that  a  man  conversant  within  tliose  walls,  would  certainly 
prove  a  greater  schollar  then  the  walking  libraries  so  called;  although  ho  could 
neither  write  nor  read.  But  if  a  child,  before  he  learned  to  read  or  write,  were 
made  acquainted  with  all  things,  and  actions  (as  he  might  be  in  this  colledge,) 
how  easily  would  he  understand  all  good  books  afterwards,  and  smeU  out  the 
fopperies  of  bad  ones.  As  for  the  situation,  modell,  policy,  occonomy,  with  the 
number  of  officers  and  retainers  to  this  Colledge,  and  the  priviledges  thereof^  it 
is  as  yet  time  enough  to  delineate.  Only  we  wish  that  a  society  of  men  might 
be  instituted,  as  carefull  to  advance  arts  as  the  Jesuites  are  to  propagate  their 
religion  for  the  government  and  manageing  of  it. 

But  what  relisli  will  there  be  in  all  those  dainties  whereof  we  have  spoken,  if 
we  want  a  palate  to  tast  them,  which  certainly  is  health  the  most  deshable  of 
all  earthly  blessings.  And  how  can  we  in  any  reason  expect  health,  when 
there  are  so  many  great  difficulties  in  the  curing  of  diseases,  and  no  proportion- 
able course  taken  to  remove  them  ?  We  shall  therefore  pursue  the  meanes  of 
acquiring  the  publicke  good  and  comfort  of  mankind  a  little  further,  and  vent 


204  PLAN  OF  AN  INDUSTRIAL  SCHOOL. 

out  conceits  concerning  a  Nosocomium  Academicum  or  an  bospitall  to  cure  the 
infirmities  both  of  physicians  and  patient. 

We  intended  to  have  given  tlie  most  perfect  idea  of  this  Nosocomium  Acade- 
micum, and  consequently  to  have  treated  of  the  situation  and  fabrick  of  the 
house,  garden,  library,  chymicall  laboratorie,  anatomicall  theater,  apotheca,  with 
all  the  instruments  and  furniture  belonging  to  each  of  them ;  as  also  of  the  whole 
policy  and  occonomy  thereof"' 

The  writer  prepares  to  realize  his  Nosocomium  out  of  the  Old 
Hospitals  "under  the  reforming  hand  of  authority,''  after  giving  some 
hints  as  to  the  organization  of  his  College  of  Health,  he  proceeds : — 

"Having  now  after  a  fashion  gone  through  the  description  of  such  Societies 
and  Institutions,  as  we  have  thought  most  fit  for  the  advancement  of  reall 
learning,  and  among  the  rest,  of  the  Ergasiulum  Literarium  for  the  education  of 
children,  we  now  come  to  speak  of  such  bookes,  as  being  well  studied  and  ex- 
pounded in  those  schooles,  would  lay  a  very  firme  foundation  of  learning  in  the 
schollers. 

We  recommend  therefore  in  the  first  place  (besides  those  bookes  of  collection, 
by  us  formerly  mentioned,  and  Master  Pells  three  Mathematical  Treatises,)  the 
compiling  of  a  work  whose  title  might  justly  be  '  Tellus  Aureum  sive  Faculta- 
tum  Lucriferarum  Discriptio  Magna^'  wherein  all  the  practised  wa3'es  of  getting 
a  subsistance  and  whereby  men  raise  their  fortunes,  may  be  at  large  declared. 
And  among  these,  we  wish  that  the  History  of  Arts  or  Manufactures  might  first 
be  undertaken  as  the  most  pleasant  and  profitable  of  all  the  rest,  wherein  shoiild 
be  discribed  the  whole  processe  of  manual  operations  and  applications  of  one 
naturall  thing  (which  we  call  the  elements  of  artificials)  to  another,  with  the 
necessarie  instruments  and  machines,  whereby  every  peice  of  work  is  elaborated, 
and  made  to  be  what  it  is,  unto  which  work  bare  words  being  not  sufficient,  all 
instruments  and  tooles  must  be  pictured,  and  colours  added  when  the  discrip- 
tions  can  not  be  made  intelligible  without  them.  This  history  must  not  be  made 
out  of  a  farrago  of  imperfect  relations  made  to  the  compiler,  either  by  too  rude 
or  couscning  workmen,  but  all  things  thereunto  appertaining  must  be  by  hira- 
selfe  observed  and  attested  by  the  most  judicious  and  candid  of  each  respective 
profession,  as  well  to  make  the  work  the  more  authenticke,  (it  being  to  be  the 
basis  of  many  future  inferences  and  philosophations)  as  the  more  cleerly  and  dis- 
tinctly to  enforme  the  compiler  him.self,  by  whose  judgement  as  the  Alembick 
and  industry  as  the  fire,  it  is  hoped  that  the  quintessence  and  magesteries  of  all 
present  inventions  may  be  extracted,  and  new  ones  produced  in  abundance. 
Although  it  be  intended  to  teach  the  making  of  all  artificials,  yet  it  is  not  to  be 
understood  that  when  there  hath  beene  taught  how  to  make  a  stoole,  or  a  naile 
of  one  fashion,  that  the  art  of  making  a  chaire  or  a  naile  of  another  fashion, 
should  be  long  insisted  on.  But  the  compiler  should  strive  to  reduce  the  making 
of  all  artificials  in  each  trade  to  a  certain  number  and  classes  of  operations  tools 
and  materials,  neither  need  he  to  set  the  figures,  or  mention  the  name  of  all 
artificials  that  ever  were  made,  but  oncly  of  such  as  are  most  knowne  and  of 
common  use  amongst  men:  he  needeth  not  to  describe  every  punctilio  in 
making  all  the  aforementioned  particulars,  and  yet  leave  no  more  defects,  then 
may  be  supplied  by  every  common  understanding.  For  we  question  whether 
(if  he  should  engage  himselfe  in  such  an  endlesse  labour)  a  man  by  the  bare 
light  and  instruction  of  a  book  could  attaine  to  a  dextrous  practice  of  a  trade, 


PLAN  OF  AN  INDUSTRIAL  SCHOOL.  205 

whereunto  hath  been  required  seven  yeares  Autopsia.  But  are  confident  that 
the  help  of  this  book  will  lessen  the  former  tedium  by  more  than  half.  He 
should  not  so  abridge  the  work  as  not  to  distinguish  between  instruments  of 
the  same  name,  as  between  a  loom  to  weave  kerseys,  and  another,  wherein  to 
weave  silk  ribbands  or  stockings.  He  should  all  along  give  the  meohanicall 
reason  of  every  instrument  materiall  and  operation,  when  the  same  is  sensible 
and  cleere.  He  should  all  along  note  his  own  defects  in  setting  down  these  his- 
tories, in  case  he  had  not  at  the  time  of  the  writing  thereof  sufficient  informa- 
tion, and  withall  the  deficiencies  of  the  trades  themselves. 

Now  whereas  there  be  divers  wayes  and  methods  of  working  most  manufac- 
tures, he  should  in  each  thing  stick  close  to  the  way  of  some  one  Mr. ;  but  note 
all  the  diversities  he  knoweth,  and  give  his  opinion  of  the  use  and  goodnes  of 
each. 

Moreover  the  occonomy,  Sive  Ars.  augendas  rei  familiaris,  in  all  professions 
ought  to  bo  inquired  into,  viz.,  what  seasons  of  the  yeare  are  most  proper  to 
each  worke,  which  the  best  places  and  times  to  buy  materials,  and  to  put  off 
the  commodities  when  finished,  how  most  thriftily  to  hire,  entertaine,  and  over- 
see servants  and  workmen,  how  to  dispose  of  every  excrement  and  refuse  of 
material,  or  of  broken,  worne,  or  otherwise  unserviceable  tooles  and  utensils, 
with  all  cauteles,  impostures  and  other  sleights  good  or  bad,  whereby  men  use 
to  over-reach  one  another. 

There  ought  to  be  added  to  this  work  many  and  various  indices  besides  the 
alphabetical  ones,  as  namely  one  of  all  the  artificials  mentioned  in  the  whole 
worke.  Another  of  all  the  naturall  materials  or  elements  of  artificials,  by  what 
artificers  used,  from  whence  they  come,  where  to  be  had,  and  what  are  the 
ordinary  and  middle  prices  of  them. 

Another  of  all  the  qualities  or  schemes  of  matter,  as  of  all  liquifiable  things 
visea  friable,  heavy,  transparent,  abstersive,  or  otherwise  qualified  according  to 
all  the  classes  of  1,  2,  and  3,  qualities,  to  the  end  that  materials  for  all  inten- 
tions and  experiments  may  be  at  hand  and  in  sight. 

Another  of  all  operations  mentioned  in  the  whole  work,  as  sawing,  hewing, 
filing,  bearing,  melting,  dissolving,  turning,  beating,  grinding,  boyling,  calcin- 
ing, knitting,  spinning,  sowing,  twisting,  &c.  To  the  end  that  they  all  may  also 
be  at  hand  for  the  purposes  aforesaid. 

Another  of  all  tooles  and  machines,  as  files,  sawes,  chissels,  sheeres,  sives, 
loomes,  shuttles,  wheels,  wedges,  knives,  skrewes,  &c.,  for  the  same  purpose  also. 

The  compiler  ought  to  publish  all  his  conjectures,  how  old  inventions  may  be 
perfected,  and  new  ones  produceds,  giving  directions  how  to  try  tlie  truth  of 
them.  So  that  by  all  those  unto  whose  hands  these  books  shall  come  perchance, 
all  the  said  suppositions  may  be  tryed,  and  the  successe  reported  to  the  compiler 
himselfe. 

The  compilers  first  scope  in  inventions  shall  bee,  how  to  aj^ply  all  materials 
that  grow  in  abundance  in  this  kingdome,  and  whereof  but  in  considerable  use 
and  profits  are  as  yet  made  to  more  advantage  to  the  common  wealth.  And 
also  how  all  impotents  whether  onely  blind,  or  onely  lame,  and  all  children  of 
above  seven  yeares  old  might  earne  their  bread,  and  not  be  so  long  burdensome 
to  their  parents  and  others.  There  should  be  made  a  preface  to  the  worke  to 
teach  men  how  to  make  the  most  of  experiments  and  to  record  the  successes  of 
them  whatsoever,  whether  according  to  hopes  or  no,  all  being  equally  luciferous, 
although  not  equally  lucriferous.     There  ought  to  be  much  artifice  used,  that  all 


206  PLAN  OF  AN  INDUSTRIAL  SCHOOL. 

the  aforementioned  indices  may  handsomely  referre  one  to  another,  that  all 
things  contained  in  the  whole  book  may  be  most  easily  found,  and  most  readily 
attend  the  seekers  of  new  inventions.  The  way  to  accomplish  this  worke  must 
be  to  enquire  what  to  this  purpose  is  already  done,  or  in  hand,  in  all  places  and 
also  by  whom,  so  that  communication  of  councels  and  proceedings,  may  (if 
possible)  be  had  with  those  undertakers.  All  bookes  of  this  subject  already 
extant  in  print,  must  be  collected  and  bought,  not  to  transcribe  them,  but  to 
examine  them  per  autopsiam,  and  re-experiment  the  experiments  contained  in 
them,  and  withall  to  give  hints  of  new  enquiries. 

The  compiler  must  be  content  to  devote  his  whole  life  to  this  employment, 
one  who  (as  we  said  before)  hath  the  fire  of  industry  and  the  alembick  of  a 
curious  and  rational!  head,  to  extract  the  quintescence  of  whatsoever  he  seeth. 
He  should  bee  as  young  as  sufficient  abilities  will  admit,  to  tlie  end  that  he  may 
with  the  concurrence  of  God's  ordinary  providence,  either  finish,  or  very  farre 
advance  the  work,  while  he  liveth,  and  also  that  living  long  in  that  employment, 
he  may  heap  up  the  larger  stock  of  experiments,  which  how  much  the  greater 
it  is  in  one  man,  affordeth  so  much  the  more  the  hopes  of  new  inventions. 

The  nature,  manner,  and  meanes  of  writing  th«  History  of  Trades  being  so 
farre  expounded,  before  we  proceed  fiirthur  therein,  for  the  better  encouragement 
of  undertakers.  "We  shall  now  represent  such  profits  and  commodities  thereof, 
to  the  commonwealth,  as  we  at  present  more  nearly  reflect  upon.  For  to 
enumerate  or  evaluate  them  all,  will  be  much  above  our  capacity. 

1.  All  men  whatsoever  may  hereby  so  look  into  all  professions,  as  not  to  be 
too  grossely  cozened  and  abused  in  them. 

2.  The  mysteries  of  trades  being  so  laid  open,  as  that  the  professors  of  them 
can  not  make  so  unlawful  and  exorbitant  advantages  as  heretofore,  such  as  are 
cunning  and  ambitious  will  never  rest  untill  they  have  found  new  ones  in  their 
stead;  so  that  the  Respubhca  Artium,  will  be  so  much  the  more  advanced. 

3.  Schollers  and  such  as  love  to  ratiocinate  will  have  more  and  better  matter 
to  exercise  their  wits  upon,  whereas  now  they  pusle  and  tiro  themselves,  about 
meer  words  and  chymericall  notions. 

4.  They  will  reason  with  more  alacrity,  when  they  shall  not  onely  yet  honour 
by  shewing  their  abilities,  but  profit  likewise  by  the  invention  of  Fructiferovis 
Arts. 

5.  Sophistry  shall  not  be  in  such  esteem  as  heretofore,  when  even  sence  shall 
be  able  to  unmask  its  vanity,  and  distinguish  it  from  truth. 

6.  Men  seeing  what  arts  are  already  invented,  shall  not  need  to  pusle  them- 
selves to  reinvent  the  same  again. 

7.  All  men  in  generall  that  have  wherewithal!  will  be  venturing  at  our  '  Vellus 
Aureum,'  by  making  of  experiments:  and  whether  thereby  they  thrive  or  no 
(the  directions  in  the  preface  being  followed)  they  shall  nevertheless  more  and 
more  discover  nature. 

8.  Nay,  all  nations  sensible  of  this  'Auri  Sacra  fames,'  will  engage  in  this 
hopefull  businesse ;  and  then  certainly  many  hands  will  make  light  work  in  the 
said  businesse  of  discovering  nature. 

9.  All  ingenious  men  and  lovers  of  rcall  knowledge,  have  a  long  time 
oegged  this  work,  wherefore  it  can  be  no  small  honor  to  him  that  shall  satisfie 
them. 

10.  A  vast  increase  of  honorable,  profitable,  and  pleasant  inventions  must 
needs  spring  from  this  work,  when  one  man  (as  the  compiler  thereof)  may  '  uno 


PLAN  OF  AN  INDUSTRIAL  SCHOOL. 


207 


intuita,'  see  and  comprehend  all  tlie  labor  and  wit  of  our  ancestors,  and  be  thereby 
able  to  supply  the  defects  of  one  trade  with  the  perfections  of  another. 

11.  We  see  that  all  countries  where  manufactures  and  trades  flourish,  as 
Holland,  &c.,  become  potent  and  rich.  For  how  can  it  be  otherwise  ?  When 
the  revenues  of  the  state  shall  be  encreased  by  new  and  more  customes,  all 
beggers  feeding  upon  the  labours  of  other  men,  and  even  thieves  and  robbers 
(made  for  want  of  better  employment)  shaU  be  set  on  work,  barren  grounds 
made  fruitful,  wet  dry,  and  dry  wet,  w^hen  even  hogs  and  more  indocile  beasts 
shall  be  taught  to  labour.  When  all  vile  materials  shall  be  turned  to  noble  uses, 
when  one  man  or  horse  shall  do  as  much  as  three,  and  every  thing  improved  to 
strange  advantages. 

12.  There  would  not  then  be  so  many  fusiian  and  unworthy  preachers  in 
divinity;  so  many  Petti-foggers  in  the  law;  so  many  quack-salvers  in  physick; 
so  many  grammaticasters  in  country  schooles,  and  so  many  lazy  serving-men  in 
gentlemen's  houses,  when  every  man  might  learn  to  live  otherwise  in  plenty 
and  honour.  For  all  men  desirous  to  take  paines,  might  by  this  book  survey  all 
the  wayes  of  subsistance,  and  choose  out  of  them  all,  one  that  best  suits  with 
his  genius  and  abilities. 

13.  Schollers  now  disesteemed  for  their  poverty,  (what  ever  other  thing  com- 
mands them)  and  unable  even  for  want  of  lively-hood,  to  perfect  anything  even 
in  their  own  way,  would  quickly  help  themselves  by  opening  treasm-es,  with 
the  key  of  lucriferous  inventions. 

14.  Boyes  instead  of  reading  hard  Hebrew  words  in  the  Bible  (where  they 
either  trample  on,  or  play  with  mysteries)  or  parrat-Uke  repeating  heterochtoua 
nounes  and  verbs,  'might  read,  and  hear  the  History  of  Faculties  expounded,  so 
that  before  they  be  bound  apprentices  to  any  trade,  they  may  foreknow  the 
good  and  bad  of  it,  what  will  and  strength  they  have  to  it,  and  not  spend  seven 
years  in  repenting,  and  in  swimming  against  the  stream  of  their  inclinations. 

All  apprentices  by  this  book  might  learn  the  theory  of  their  trades  before 
they  are  bound  to  a  master,  and  consequently  may  be  exempted  from  the 
'  Tsedium '  of  a  seven  years  bondage,  and  having  spent  but  about  three  years 
with  a  master,  may  spend  the  other  foure  in  travelling  to  learn  breeding,  and 
the  perfection  of  their  trades.  As  it  would  be  more  profitable  to  boyes,  to  spend 
ten  or  twelve  years  in  the  study  of  things,  and  of  this  book  of  faculties,  then  in 
a  rabble  of  words,  so  it  would  be  more  easie  and  pleasant  to  them  as  more 
suitable  to  the  natural  propensions  we  observe  in  them.  For  we  see  children 
do  delight  in  drums,  pipes,  fiddels,  guns  made  of  elder  sticks,  and  bellowes'  noses, 
piped  keys,  &c.,  for  painting  flags  and  ensignfes  with  elder- berries  and  corn  poppy, 
making  ships  with  paper,  and  setting  even  nut-shells  a  swimming,  handling  the 
tooles  of  workemen  as  soone  as  they  tune  their  backs,  and  trying  to  work  them- 
selves, fishing,  fowling,  hunting,  setting  sprenges,  and  traps  for  birds,  and  other 
animals,  making  pictures  in  their  writing  bookcs,  making  tops,  gigs,  and  whirh- 
gigs,  guilting  balls,  practicing  divers  jugling  tricks  upon  the  cards,  &c.,  with  a 
million  more  besides.  And  for  the  females,  they  will  be  making  pies  with  clay, 
making  their  babies  clothes,  and  dressing  them  therewith,  they  will  spit  leaves 
on  sticks,  as  if  they  were  roasting  meate,  they  will  imitate  all  the  talke  and 
actions  which  they  observe  in  their  mother,  and  her  gossips,  and  punctually  act 
the  comedy  or  tragedy  (I  know  not  whether  to  call  it)  of  a  woman's  lying-in. 
By  all  which  it  is  most  evident,  that  children  do  most  naturally  delight  in  things, 
and  are  most  capable  of  learning  them,  having  quick  scnccs  to  receive  them, 


208  PLAN  OF  AN  INULSTRIAL  SCHOOL. 

and  unprcoccupicd  memories  to  retaine  them.  As  for  other  things  whereunto 
they  are  nowadayes  lit,  they  are  altogether  unfit  for  want  of  judgement,  which 
is  but  weake  in  them,  and  also  for  want  of  will,  which  is  sufficiently  seene  both 
by  what  we  have  said  before,  by  the  difficultie  of  keeping  them  at  schools,  and 
the  punishment  they  will  endure  rather  than  be  altogether  debarred  from  this 
pleasure  which  they  take  in  things. 

This  work  will  be  a  help  to  eloquence,  when  men  by  their  great  acquaintance 
with  things,  might  find  out  similitudes,  metaphors,  allusions,  and  other  graces 
of  discourse  in  abundance. 

To  arithmeticians  and  geometricians,  supplying  them  with  matter  whereupon 
to  exercise  tliose  most  excellent  sciences,  which  some  having  with  much  painea 
once  learned,  do  for  want  hereof  forget  againe,  or  unprofitably  apply  about  re- 
solving neetilesse  questions  and  making  of  new  difficulties.  The  number  of  mix 
mathematical  arts  would  hereby  be  increased. 

For  we  see  that  opticks  are  made  up  of  pure  mathematicks,  the  anatomy  of 
the  eye,  and  some  physicall  principles  concerning  the  nature  of  light  and  vision, 
with  some  experiments  of  convexe  and  concave  glasses.  Astronomy  is  con- 
stituted againe  of  them,  and  some  celestiall  phenomena.  Enquire  againe  of 
them,  and  some  propositions,  '  de  Cochlea  et  Vecte.'  And  so  certainly  as  the 
number  of  axioms  concerning  severall  subjects  doth  increase  by  this  work.  So 
the  number  of  (their  applications  to  pure  mathematicks,  id  est,)  new  mathe- 
maticail  arts,  will  increase  also.  Divines  having  so  large  a  booke  of  God's  works 
added  to  that  of  his  word,  may  the  more  clearly  from  them  both,  deduce  the 
wisedome,  power,  and  goodnesse  of  the  Almighty.  Physicians  observing  the 
use  of  all  drugs  and  operations  in  the  production  of  artificials,  may  with  successe 
transferre  them  to  better  uses  in  their  art.  And  lawyers  when  they  plead  con- 
cerning trades  and  manufactures,  would  better  know  what  to  say  on  such 
occasions. 

A  young  beginner  may  know  by  this  book  how  much  stock  is  needfull  to  set 
him  up  in  trade.  Gentlemen  falling  sometimes  accidentally  into  tradesmen  and 
handi-crafts  company,  would  know  how  to  make  use  of  such  occurrences  to 
advantage. 

Lastly, — This  History  with  the  comments  thereupon,  and  the  Indices,  Preface 
and  Supplemcments  thereunto  belonging,  would  make  us  able  (if  it  be  at  all 
possible)  to  demonstrate  Axioms  in  Philosophy,  the  value  and  dignity  whereof 
can  not  be  valued  or  computed. 

The  next  book  which  we  recommend  is  the  History  of  Nature  free,  for  indeed 
the  History  of  Trades  is  also  a  History  of  Nature,  but  of  nature  vexed  and  dis- 
turbed. What  we  meane  by  this  history  may  be  known  by  the  Lord  Verulam's 
most  excellent  specimen  thereof,  and  as  for  the  particulars  that  it  should  treat 
on,  we  referre  to  his  exact  and  judicious  catalogue  of  them,  at  the  end  of  hia 
"  Advancement  of  Learning." 


PLAN   OF   A  PHILOSOPHICAL  COLLEGE. 

A  PROPOSITION    FOR  TUE  ADVAXCEMEKT  OF  EXPERIMENTAL   PULLOSOPUT — 1661. 


BY  ABRAHAM  COWLKY. 


TUE   COLLEGE. 

That  the  Philosophical  College  be  situated  within  one,  two,  or  (at  farthest)  three 
miles  of  London,  and  if  it  be  possible  to  find  that  convenience,  upon  the  side 
of  the  river,  or  very  near  it. 

That  the  revenue  of  this  College  amount  to  four  thousand  a  year. 

That  the  company  received  into  it  be  as  follows: — 

1.  Twenty  philosophers  or  professors.  2.  Sixteen  young  scholars,  servants 
to  the  professors.  3.  A  chaplain.  4.  A  bailee  for  the  revenue.  5.  A  manciple 
or  purveyor  for  the  provisions  of  the  house.  6.  Two  gardeners.  7.  A  master 
cook.  8.  An  under  cook.  9.  A  butler.  10.  An  under  butler.  11.  A  sur- 
geon. 12.  Two  lungs,  or  chemical  servants.  13.  A  library-keeper,  who  is 
likewise  to  be  apothecary,   druggist,  and  keeper  of  instruments,  engines,  &c. 

14.  An  officer  to  feed  and  take  care  of  all  beasts,  fowl,  &c.,  kept  by  the  College. 

15.  A  groom  of  the  stable.  16.  A  messenger  to  send  up  and  down  for  all  uses 
of  the  College.  17.  Four  old  women  to  tend  the  chambers,  keep  the  house 
clean,  and  such  like  services. 

That  the  annual  allowance  for  this  company  be  as  follows:  — 
1.  To  every  professor,  and  to  the  chaplain,  one  hundred  and  twenty  pounds. 
2.  To  the  sixteen  sciiolars,  twenty  pounds  a  piece,  ten  pounds  for  their  diet,  and 
ten  pounds  for  their  entertainment.  3.  To  the  bailee,  thirty  pounds,  besides 
allowance  for  his  journeys.  4.  To  the  purvej'or  or  manciple,  thirtj' pounds.  5. 
To  each  of  the  gardeners,  twenty  pounds.  6.  To  the  master  cook,  twenty 
pounds.  7.  To  the  under  cook,  four  pounds.  8.  To  the  butler,  ten  pounds.  9. 
To  the  under  butler,  four  pounds.  10.  To  the  surgeon,  thirty  pounds.  11. 
To  the  library-keeper,  thirty  pounds.  12.  To  each  of  the  lungs,  twelve  pounds. 
13.  To  the  keeper  of  the  beasts,  six  pounds.  14.  To  the  groom,  five  pounds. 
15.  To  the  messenger,  twelve  pounds.  16.  To  the  four  necessary  women,  ten 
pounds.  For  the  manciple's  table,  at  which  all  the  servants  of  the  house  are 
to  eat,  except  the  scholars,  one  hundred  and  sixty  pounds.  For  three  horses 
for  the  service  of  the  College,  thirty  pounds. 

All  which  amounts  to  three  thousand  two  hundred  and  eighty-five  pounds. 
So  that  there  remains  for  keeping  of  the  house  and  gardens,  and  operatories, 
and  instruments  and  animals,  and  experiments  of  all  sorts,  and  all  other  ex- 
penses, seven  hundred  and  fifteen  pounds.  "Which  were  a  very  inconsiderable 
sum  for  the  great  uses  to  which  it  is  designed,  but  that  I  conceive  the 
industry  of  the  College  will  in  a  short  time  so  enrich  itself  as  to  get  a  for  better 
stock  for  the  advance  and  enlargement  of  the  work  when  it  is  once  begun : 
neither  is  the  continuance  of  particular  men's  liberality  to  be  despaired  of, 

U 


O]0  PLAN    OF  A  PIIILOSOPIIICAL  COLLEGE. 

when  it  shall  be  encouraged  by  the  sight  of  that  public  benefit  which  ■will 
accnie  to  all  mankind,  and  chietly  to  our  nation,  by  tiiis  foundation.  Something 
likewise  will  arise  from  leases  and  other  casualties ;  that  nothing  of  which  may 
be  diverted  to  the  private  gain  of  the  professors,  or  any  other  use  besides  that 
of  the  search  of  nature,  and  by  it  the  general  good  of  the  world,  and  that  care 
may  be  taken  for  the  certain  performance  of  all  things  ordained  by  the  insti- 
tution, as  likewise  for  the  protection  and  encouragement  of  the  companj-,  it  is 
proposed. 

That  some  person  of  eminent  qualit}-,  a  lover  of  solid  learning,  and  no  stran- 
ger in  it,  be  chosen  Clianccllor  or  President  of  the  College,  and  that  eight  gov- 
ernors more,  men  qualitied  in  the  like  manner,  be  joined  with  him,  twoofwhicli 
shall  yearly  be  appointed  Visitors  of  the  College,  and  receive  an  exact  account 
of  all  expenses  even  to  the  smallest,  and  of  the  true  estate  of  their  public 
treasure,  under  the  hands  and  oaths  of  the  professors  resident. 

That  the  choice  of  the  professors  in  any  vacancy  belong  to  the  Chancellor  and 
the  Governors,  but  that  the  professors  (who  are  likeliest  to  know  what  men  of 
the  nation  are  most  proper  for  the  duties  of  their  society)  direct  their  choice  by 
recommending  two  or  three  persons  to  them  at  every  election.  And  that  if  anj- 
learned  person  within  his  majesty's  dominions  discover  or  eminently  improve 
any  useful  kind  of  knowledge,  he  may  upon  that  ground  for  his  reward  and  the 
encouragement  of  others,  be  preferred,  if  he  pretend  to  the  place,  before  any- 
body else. 

That  the  Governors  have  power  to  turn  out  any  professor  who  shall  be  proved 
to  be  either  scandalous  or  unprofitable  to  the  Society. 

That  the  College  be  built  after  this,  or  some  such  manner :  That  it  consist  of 
three  fair  quadrangular  courts,  and  three  large  grounds,  inclosed  with  good 
walls  behind  them.  That  the  first  court  be  built  with  a  fair  cloister,  and  the 
professors'  lodgings  or  rather  little  houses,  four  on  each  side,  at  some  distance 
from  one  another,  and  with  little  gardens  behind  them,  just  after  the  manner  of 
the  Chartrcux  bej'ond  sea.  That  the  inside  of  the  cloister  be  lined  with  a 
gravel  walk,  and  that  walk  with  a  row  of  trees,  and  that  in  the  middle  there  bo 
a  parterre  of  flowers,  and  a  fountain. 

That  the  second  quadrangle,  just  behind  the  first,  be  so  contrived  as  to  contain 
these  parts :  1.  A  chapel.  2.  A  hall  with  two  long  tables  on  each  side  for  the 
scholars  and  officers  of  the  house  to  eat  at,  and  with  a  pulpit  and  forms  at  the 
end  for  the  public  lectures.  3.  A  large  and  pleasant  dining-room  within  the 
hall  for  the  professors  to  eat  in,  and  to  hold  their  assemblies  and  conferences. 
4.  A  public  school-house.  5.  A  library.  6.  A  gallery  to  walk  in,  adorned 
with  the  pictures  or  statues  of  all  the  inventors  of  any  thing  useful  to  human 
life,  as  printing,  gun.s,  America,  &c.,  and  of  late  in  anatomy'  the  circulation  of 
the  blood,  the  milky  veins,  and  such  like  discoveries  in  any  art,  with  short  eu- 
logies under  the  portraitures ;  as  likewise  the  figures  of  all  sorts  of  creatures, 
and  the  stuffed  skins  of  as  many  strange  animals  as  can  be  gotten.  7.  An 
anatomy  chamber  adorned  with  skeletons  and  anatomical  pictures,  and  prepared 
with  all  conveniences  for  dis.section.  8.  A  chamber  for  all  manner  of  drug,s 
and  apothecaries'  materials.  9.  A  mathematical  chamber  furnished  with  all 
sorts  of  matliematical  instruments,  being  an  appendix  to  the  libi'arj'.  10. 
Lodgings  for  tlie  chaplain,  surgeon,  library-keeper  and  purveyor,  near  the 
chapel,  anatomy  chamber,  library,  and  hall. 


PLAN   OF  A  PHILOSOPHICAL  COLLEGE. 


211 


T!)at  the  third  court  be  on  one  side  of  these,  vory  large,  but  meanly  built, 
being  designed  only  for  use  and  not  for  beau^^y  too.  as  the  others.  That  it  con- 
tain the  kitchen,  butteries,  brewhouse,  bakehouse,  dairy,  lardrj-,  stables,  &c., 
and  espeeiall}-  great  laboratories  for  chemical  operations,  and  lodgings  for  tlie 
under  servants. 

That  behind  the  second  c-ourt  be  placed  the  gaiden,  containing  all  sorts  of 
plants  that  our  soil  will  bear,  and  at  the  end  a  little  house  of  pleasure,  a  lodge 
for  the  gardener,  and  a  grove  of  trees  cut  into  walks. 

That  the  second  inclosed  ground  be  a  garden,  destined  only  to  the  trial  of  all 
manner  of  experiments  concerning  plants,  as  their  melioration,  acceleration, 
retardation,  conservation,  composition,  transmutation,  coloration,  or  whatsoever 
else  can  be  produced  by  art,  either  for  use  or  curiosity,  with  a  lodge  in  it  for  the 
gardener. 

That  the  third  ground  be  employed  in  convenient  receptacles  for  all  sorts  of 
creatures  which  the  professors  shall  judge  necessary  for  their  more  exact  search 
into  the  nature  of  animals,  and  the  improvement  of  their  uses  to  us. 

That  there  be  likewise  built  in  some  place  of  the  College  where  it  maj'  serve 
most  for  ornament  of  the  whole,  a  very  high  tower  for  observation  of  celestial 
bodies,  adorned  with  all  sorts  of  dials,  and  such  like  curiosities  ;  and  that  there 
be  very  deep  vaults,  made  under  ground,  for  experiments  most  proper  to  sucti 
places,  which  will  be  undoubtedly  very  manj'. 

Much  might  be  added,  but  truly  I  am  afraid  this  is  too  much  already  for  the 
charity  or  generosity  of  this  age  to  extend  to ;  and  we  do  not  design  this  after 
the  model  of  Solomon's  house  in  my  Lord  Bacon,  (which  is  a  project  for  exper- 
iments that  can  never  be  experimented,)  but  propose  it  within  such  bounds  of 
expense  as  have  often  been  exceeded  by  the  buildings  of  private  citizens. 

PROFESSORS,    SCHOLARS,    CHAPLAIN,    AND  OTHER  OFFICERS. 

That  of  the  twentj'  professors,  four  be  always  travelling  be3'ond  seas,  and 
sbcteen  always  resident,  unless  bj-^  permission  upon  extraordinary  occasions,  and 
every  one  so  absent,  leaving  a  deputy  behind  him  to  supply  his  duties. 

That  the  four  professors  itinerate  be  assigned  to  the  four  parts  of  the  world 
— Europe,  Asia,  Africa,  and  America — there  to  reside  three  years  at  least,  and 
to  give  a  constant  account  of  all  things  that  belong  to  the  learning,  and  espe- 
cially, natural  experimental  pliilosophy  of  those  parts. 

That  the  expense  of  all  dispatches,  and  all  books,  simples,  animals,  stones, 
metals,  minerals,  &c.,  and  all  curiosities  whatsoever,  natural  or  artificial,  sent  by 
them  to  the  college,  shall  be  defrayed  out  of  the  treasury,  and  an  additional 
allowance  (above  the  1202)  made  to  them  as  soon  as  the  college  revenue  shall 
be  improved. 

That  at  their  going  abroad  the_y  shall  take  a  solemn  oath  never  to  write  any- 
thing to  the  College,  but  what,  after  ver}-  diligent  examination,  tliej'  shall  fully 
believe  to  be  true,  and  to  confess  and  recant  it  as  soon  as  they  tind  themselves 
in  an  error. 

That  the  si.Ktecn  professors  resident  shall  be  bound  to  study  and  teach  all 
sorts  of  natural,  experimental  pliilosophj-,  to  consist  of  the  mathematics,  me- 
chanics, medicine,  anatomj',  chemistrj',  the  history  of  animals,  plants,  minerals, 
elements,  &c,  agriculture,  architecture,  art  niilitarj',  navigation,  gardening:  the 
mysteries  of  all  trades,  and  improvement  of  them ;   the  facture  of  all  merchan- 


212  ri.AN  OF  A  rillLOSOnilCAL  COLLEGE. 

discs,  all  natural  magic,  or  divination ;  and  briefly,  all  tilings  con'aincd  in  the 
catalogue  of  natural  histories  annexed  to  my  Lord  Bacon's  Orr/anon. 

That  once  a  day  from  I'^aster  til  Michaelmas,  and  twice  a  week  from  Michael- 
mas to  Easter,  in  the  hours  in  the  afternoon  most  convenient  for  auditors  from 
London  according  to  tlie  time  of  tiie  year,  there  shall  be  a  lecture  read  in  the 
liall,  upon  such  parts  of  natural  experimental  pliilosoiihy  as  the  professors  shall 
ngree  on  among  themselves,  and  as  each  of  them  shall  be  able  to  perform  use- 
fully and  honorably. 

Tliat  two  of  the  professors  by  daily,  weekly  or  monthly  turns  .shall  teach  ti:e 
public  schools  according  to  the  rules  hereafter  prescril)^  d. 

That  all  the  professors  .shall  lie  equal  in  all  respects  (except  precedency,  choice 
of  lodging,  and  such  like  privileges,  which  shall  belong  to  seniority  in  the  Col- 
lege,) and  that  all  shall  be  masters  and  treasurers  by  aiuiual  turns,  which  two 
oflBcers  for  the  time  being,  shall  take  place  of  all  the  rest,  and  shall  be  Arhitri 
duaruin  Mtnaarum. 

That  the  master  shall  command  all  the  officers  of  the  College,  appoint  assem- 
blies or  conferences  upon  occasion,  and  preside  in  them  with  a  double  voice, 
and  in  his  absence  the  trea.surer,  wliose  business  is  to  receive  and  disburse  all 
moneys  liy  the  master's  order  in  writing,  (if  it  be  an  extraordinary.)  after  con- 
sent of  the  other  professors. 

That  all  the  profes.^ors  shall  sup  together  in  the  parlor  within  the  hall  every 
night,  and  shall  dine  there  twice  a  week  (to  wit  Sundays  and  Tlnirsdays,)  at 
two  round  tables  for  the  convenience  of  di.scourse,  which  shall  be  for  the  most 
part  of  such  matters  as  may  improve  their  studies  and  professions,  and  to  keep 
them  from  falling  into  loose  or  unprofitable  talk,  shall  be  the  duty  of  the  two 
Arhitri  Mensuruni,  who  may  likewise  command  any  of  the  servant-scholars  to 
read  them  what  they  shall  think  tit,  whilst  the}'  are  at  table ;  that  it  .shall 
>)elong  likewise  to  the  siiid  Arhitri  Mensarum  only,  to  invite  stranger.s,  which 
tiiey  shall  rarely  do,  unless  thej-  be  men  of  learning  or  great  parts,  and  .shall 
not  invite  above  two  at  a  time  fo  one  table,  nothing  being  more  vain  and  un- 
fruitful tlian  numerous  meetings  of  acquaintance. 

That  the  professors  resident  .shall  allow  the  College  twenty  pounds  a  year  for 
their  diet,  wliether  they  continue  there  all  the  time  or  not. 

That  they  shall  have  once  a  week  an  assembly  or  conference  concerning  the 
affairs  of  the  College,  and  the  progress  of  their  experimental  philosophy. 

T!iat  if  anj'  one  find  out  any  thing  which  he  conceives  to  be  of  consequence, 
lie  shall  communicate  it  to  the  assembly  to  be  examined,  experimented,  ap- 
proved, or  rejected. 

That  if  any  one  be  author  of  an  invention  that  may  bring  in  profit,  the  third 
part  of  it  shall  belong  to  the  inventor,  and  the  two  other  to  the  Society  ;  and 
besides,  if  the  thing  be  very  considerable,  his  statue  or  picture,  with  an  eulogy 
under  it,  shall  be  ])laced  in  the  gallery,  and  made  a  denizen  of  tiiat  corporation 
of  famous  men. 

That  all  the  professors  .shall  be  always  a-signed  to  some  particular  inquisition 
(besides  tiie  ordinary  course  of  tlicir  studies.)  of  which  they  shall  give  an  ac- 
count to  the  assembly,  so  that  by  tliis  means  there  may  be  every  day  some 
operation  or  other  made  in  all  the  art.s,  as  chemistry,  anatomy,  mechanics,  and 
the  like,  and  that  the  College  shall  furnish  for  the  charge  of  the  operation. 

That  there  shall  be  kept  a  register  under  lock  and  key,  and  not  to  be  seen 


PLAN  OF  A  PHILOSOPHICAL  COLLEGE.  0]3 

but  by  the  professors,  of  all  the  experiments  that  succeed,  signed  b}-  the  per- 
sons who  made  tiie  trial. 

That  the  popular  and  received  errors  in  experimental  philosophj"  (with  which, 
like  weeds  in  a  neglected  garden,  it  is  now  almo.st  all  overgrown,)  shall  be 
evinced  by  trial,  and  taken  notice  of  in  the  public  lectures,  that  tliey  may  no 
longer  abuse  the  credulous,  and  beget  new  ones  b}'  consequence  or  similitude. 

Tiiat  every  third  ^-ear  (after  the  full  settlement  of  the  foundation,)  the  College 
shall  give  an  account  in  i)rint,  in  proper  and  ancient  Latin,  of  the  fruits  of  tlieir 
triennial  industry. 

That  every  professor  resident  shall  have  his  scholar  to  wait  upon  him  in  his 
chamber,  and  at  table,  wliom  he  shall  be  obliged  to  breed  up  in  natural  phi- 
losopli}-,  and  render  an  account  of  his  progress  to  the  assembly,  from  whose 
election  he  received  liim,  and  therefore  is  responsible  to  it,  both  for  tiie  care  of 
his  education,  and  the  just  and  civil  usage  of  him. 

That  the  scholar  siiall  understand  Latin  very  well,  and  be  moderately  initiated 
in  the  Greek,  before  he  be  capable  of  being  chosen  into  the  service,  and  that  he 
shall  not  remain  in  it  above  seven  3'^ears. 

That  his  lodging  sliall  be  with  the  professor  whom  he  serves. 

That  no  professor  shall  be  a  married  man,  or  a  divine,  or  lawyer  in  practice, 
only  phj'sic  he  may  be  allowed  to  prescribe,  because  the  study  of  that  art  is  :i 
great  part  of  the  duty  of  his  place,  and  the  duty  of  that  is  so  great  that  it  will 
not  suffer  him  to  lose  much  time  in  mercenary  practice. 

Tliat  the  professors  shall  in  the  College  wear  the  habit  of  ordinarj'  masters 
of  art  in  the  universities,  or  of  doctors,  if  any  of  them  be  so. 

That  they  shall  all  keep  an  inviolable  and  exemplary  friendship  with  one  an- 
other, and  that  the  assembly  shall  hiy  a  considerable  pecuniary  mulct  upon  any 
one  who  shall  be  proved  to  have  entered  so  far  into  a  quarrel  as  to  give  uncivil 
language  to  his  brother  profe  sor;  and  that  the  persevcrence  in  any  enmity 
shall  be  punished  by  the  Governors  with  expulsion. 

That  the  chap'ain  shall  eat  at  the  master"*  taljle,  (paying  his  twenty  pounds 
a  year  as  the  others  do.)  and  that  he  shall  read  prayers  once  a  day  at  least,  a 
little  before  supper-time;  that  he  shall  preach  in  the  chapel  every  Sunday 
morning,  and  catechise  in  the  afternoon  the  scholars  and  the  school-boy ;  that 
he  shall  every  month  administer  the  Holy  Sacrament;  that  he  shall  not  trouble 
himself  and  his  auditors  with  the  controversies  of  divinit}-,  but  only  teach  God 
in  his  just  commandments,  and  in  his  wonderful  works. 

TUE  sriioor,. 

That  the  school  may  be  built  so  as  to  contain  about  two  hundred  boys. 

That  it  be  divided  into  four  classes,  not  as  others  are  ordinarily  into  six  or 
seven,  because  we  suppose  that  the  children  sent  hither  to  be  initiated  in  things 
as  well  as  words,  ought  to  have  past  the  two  or  three  first,  and  to  have  attained 
the  age  of  about  thirteen  years,  being  already  well  advanced  in  the  Latin 
grammar  and  some  authors. 

That  none,  though  never  so  rich,  shall  pay  any  thing  for  their  teaching;  and 
that  if  any  professor  shall  be  convicted  to  have  taken  any  nione\'  in  consid- 
eration of  his  pains  at  the  school,  lie  shall  lie  expelled  with  ignominy  by  the 
Governors;  but  if  an}'  persons  of  great  estate  and  quality,  finding  their  sons 
much  better  proficients  in  learning  here  than  boys  of  the  same  age  commoiilj' 


214 


PLAN  OF  A  PIIILOSOPirCAL  COLLEGE. 


lire  at  other  school?,  sliall  not  think  fit  to  receive  an  obligation  of  so  near  con- 
cernment without  returning  some  murks  of  acknowledgment,  they  may,  if  they 
please,  (for  nothing  is  to  be  demanded.)  bestow  .some  little  rarity  or  curiosity 
upon  the  Society  in  recompense  of  their  trouble. 

And  because  it  is  deplorable  to  consider  the  loss  whicli  children  make  of  their 
time  at  most  scliools,  employing  or  rather  casting  away  six  or  seven  years  in 
the  learning  of  words  only,  and  that  t  lo  very  imperfcctl}': 

That  a  method  be  here  established  fjr  the  infusing  knowlcilgo  and  language 
at  tlic  .tame  time  into  them  ;  and  that  this  may  be  tlieir  apprenticeship  in  natural 
piiilosophy.  This  we  conceive  may  be  done,  by  breeding  them  in  authors  or 
pieces  of  authors,  who  treat  of  some  parts  of  nature,  and  who  may  be  under- 
iitood  witli  as  much  ease  and  pleasure  as  those  which  are  commonly  taught ; 
such  are  in  Latin,  Varro^  Cato,  Columella,  Pliny,  part  of  Celsus,  and  of  Stneca, 
C'.cero  de  Dinnatione,  de  Natura  Deorwn,  and  several  scattered  pieces,  VmjiCs 
Georgics,  Grotius,  Nemesmnus,  Manilius ;  and  because  the  truth  is,  we  want 
good  poets  (I  mean  we  have  but  few)  who  have  purposel}-  treated  of  solid  and 
learned,  that  is,  natural  matters,  (the  most  part  indulging  to  the  weakness  of 
the  world,  and  feeding  it  either  with  the  follies  of  love,  orwitli  tlie  fables  of  gods 
and  heroes,)  we  conceive  that  one  book  ought  to  be  compiled  of  all  the  scattered 
little  parcels  among  the  ancient  poets  that  might  serve  for  the  advancement  of 
natural  sciences,  and  which  would  make  no  small  or  unusual  or  unpleasant 
volume.  To  this  we  would  have  added  the  Morals  and  Rhetorics  of  Cicero,  and 
the  Institutions  of  Quinlilian;  and  for  the  comedians,  from  whom  almost  all  that 
necessary  part  of  common  discourse  and  all  the  most  intimate  proprieties  of  the 
language  are  drawn,  we  conceive  the  boys  made  be  made  masters  of  them,  as 
a  part  of  tiieir  recreation  and  not  of  their  task,  if  once  a  month,  or  at  least  onco 
in  two,  they  act  one  of  Terence's  comedies,  and  afterwards  (the  most  advanced) 
some  of  Pluutwi  ;  and  this  is  for  many  reasons  one  of  tlie  best  exercises  they 
can  be  enjoined,  and  most  innocent  pleasures  they  can  be  allowed.  As  for  the 
Greek  authors,  they  may  study  Nicander,  Ojrpianus,  (whom  Scaliger  does  not 
doubt  to  prefer  above  Homer  himself,  and  place  next  to  his  adored  Virgil,)  Aris- 
tone's  History  of  Animals,  and  other  parts ;  Theophrastus  and  Dioscorides,  of 
Plants,  and  a  collection  made  out  of  several,  both  poets  and  other  Grecian  wri- 
ters. For  roorals  and  rhetoric,  Aristotle  may  suffice,  or  Htrmogenes  and  Lov- 
ginus  be  added  for  the  latter.  With  the  liistory  of  animals  tlicy  should  be 
showed  anatomy  as  a  divertisement,  and  made  to  know  the  figures  and  natures 
of  those  creatures  which  are  not  common  among  us,  disabusing  tiiem  at  tlie  same 
time  of  those  errors  which  are  universally  admitted  concerning  many.  The  same 
metliod  should  be  used  to  make  them  acquainted  with  all  plants;  and  to  this 
.must  be  added  a  little  of  the  ancient  and  modern  geography,  the  understanding 
of  the  globes,  and  the  principles  of  geometry  and  astronomy.  They  should 
likewise  use  to  declaim  in  Latin  and  English,  as  the  Romans  did  in  Greek  and 
Latin  ;  and  in  all  this  travel  be  rather  led  on  by  fiimiliarit}',  encouragement  and 
emulation,  than  driven  by  severity,  punishment  and  terror.  Upon  festivals  and 
playtimes  tliey  should  exercise  tiiemselves  in  the  fields  bj'  riding,  leaping,  fenc- 
ing, mustering  and  training  after  the  manner  of  soldiers,  &c.  And  to  prevent 
all  dangers  and  all  disorder,  there  should  alwaj's  be  two  of  the  scliolars  with 
them  to  be  as  witnesses  and  directors  of  tlieir  actions.  In  foul  weather  it  would 
liOt  be  amiss  for  them  to  learn  to  dance,  that  is,  to  learn  just  so  much  (for  all 


PLAN  OF  A  PHILOSOPHICAL  COLLEGE.  215 

beyond  is  superfluous,  if  not  worse.)  as  ma}-  give  them  a  graceful  comportment 
of  their  bodies. 

Upon  Sundaj'S,  and  all  days  of  devotion,  they  are  to  be  a  part  of  the  chap- 
lain's province. 

That  for  all  these  ends  tlie  College  so  order  it,  as  that  there  may  be  some 
convenient  and  pleasant  houses  thereabouts,  kept  by  religious,  discreet,  and 
careful  personsi,  for  the  lodging  and  boarding  of  young  scholars,  that  they  have 
a  constant  eye  over  tliem  to  see  that  they  be  bred  up  there  piously,  cleanly, 
and  plentifully,  according  to  the  proportion  of  their  parents'  expenses. 

And  that  the  College,  when  it  shall  please  God  either  by  their  own  industry 
and  success,  or  by  the  benevolence  of  patrons,  to  enrich  them  so  far  as  that  it 
may  come  to  their  turn  and  duty  to  be  charitable  to  others,  shall  at  their  own 
charges  erect  and  maintain  some  house  or  houses  for  the  entertainment  of  such 
poor  men's  sons  whose  good  natural  parts  may  promise  either  use  or  ornament 
to  the  commonwealth,  during  the  time  of  their  abode  at  school,  and  shall  take 
care  that  it  shall  be  done  with  the  same  conveniences  as  are  enjoyed  even  by 
rich  men's  children,  (though  they  maintain  the  fewer  for  that  cause,)  there  being 
nothing  eminent  and  illustrious  to  be  expected  from  a  low,  sordid,  and  hospital- 
like education. 

CONCLUSION. 

If  I  be  not  much  abused  by  a  natural  fondness  to  my  own  conceptions,  (that 
ropyh  of  tiie  Greeks,  which  no  other  language  has  a  proper  word  for,)  there  was 
never  any  project  thouglit  upon,  which  deserves  to  meet  with  so  few  adver- 
saries as  this;  for  who  can  without  impudent  folly  oppose  the  establishment  of 
twenty  well  selected  persons  in  such  a  condition  of  life,  that  their  whole  busi- 
ness and  sole  profession  may  be  to  study  the  improvement  and  advantage  of  all 
other  professions,  from  that  of  the  highest  general  even  to  the  lowest  artisan  ? 
"Who  shall  be  obliged  to  employ  their  whole  time,  wit,  learning,  and  industry, 
to  these  four,  the  most  useful  that  can  be  imagined,  and  to  no  other  ends :  First, 
to  weigh,  examine,  and  prove  all  things  of  nature  delivered  to  us  by  former 
ages,  to  detect,  explode,  and  strike  a  censure  through  all  false  moneys  with 
which  the  world  has  been  paid  and  cheated  so  long,  and  (as  I  may  say)  to  set 
the  mark  of  the  College  upon  all  true  coin.s,  that  they  may  pass  hereafter  with- 
out any  farther  trial.  Secondly,  to  recover  the  lost  inventions,  and.  as  it  were, 
drowned  lands  of  the  ancients.  Thirdly,  to  improve  all  arts  which  we  now 
have ;  and  lastlj',  to  discover  others,  which  we  yet  have  not.  And  who  shall 
besides  all  this  (as  a  benefit  by-the-by)  give  the  best  education  in  the  world 
(purely  gratis)  to  as  many  men's  children  as  shall  think  fit  to  make  use  of  the  ob- 
ligation. Neitiier  does  it  at  all  check  or  interfere  with  any  parties  in  state  or 
religion,  but  is  indifferently  to  be  embraced  by  all  differences  in  opinion,  and 
can  hardly  be  conceived  capable  (as  man}'  good  institutions  have  done)  even  of 
degeneration  into  an}-  thing  harmful.  So  that,  all  things  considered,  I,  will  sup- 
pose this  proposition  will  encounter  with  no  enemies;  the  onl}' question  is, 
whether  it  will  find  friends  enough  to  carry  it  on  from  discourse  and  design  to 
reality  and  effect;  the  necessary  expenses  of  the  beginning  (for  it  will  maintain 
itself  well  enough  afterwards)  being  so  great  (though  I  have  set  them  as  low  as 
is  possible  in  order  to  so  vast  a  work)  that  it  may  seem  hopeless  to  raise  such  a 
sum  out  of  those  few  dead  relics  of  human  charity  and  public  generosity  which 
are  yet  remaining  in  the*  world. 


2|g  ESSAY  ON  AGRICULTURE. 

EXTRACTS   FROM   AN   ESSAY   ON   AGRICULTURE,    BY   A.    COWLEY. 

There  is  no  otlier  sort  of  life  that  affords  so  nianj'  branches  of  praise  to  a 
panegyrist — the  utility  of  it  to  a  man's  self:  the  usefulness  or  rather  necessity 
of  it  to  all  the  rest  of  mankind :  the  innocence,  the  pleasure,  the  antiquitj',  the 
dignity.  The  utility  (I  mean  plainly  the  lucre  of  it)  is  not  so  great  now  in  our 
nation  as  arises  from  merchandise  and  the  trading  of  the  city,  from  whence 
many  of  tiie  best  estates  and  chief  honors  of  the  kingdom  are  derived :  we  have 
no  men  now  fetched  from  the  plow  to  be  made  lords,  as  they  were  in  Rome  to  be 
made  consuls  and  dictators,  the  reason  of  which  I  conceive  to  be  from  an  evil 
custom,  now  grown  as  strong  among  us  as  if  it  were  a  law,  which  is,  that  no 
men  put  their  children  to  be  bred  up  apprentices  in  agriculture,  as  in  other 
trades,  but  such  who  are  so  poor,  that  when  they  come  to  be  men,  they  have 
not  wherewithal  to  set  up  in  it,  and  so  can  only  farm  some  small  parcel  of 
ground,  the  rent  of  which  devours  all  but  the  bare  subsistence  of  the  tenant : 
whilst  they  who  are  proprietors  of  the  land,  are  either  too  proud,  or  for  want 
of  that  kind  of  education,  too  ignorant  to  improve  their  estates,  though  the 
means  of  doing  it  be  as  easy  and  certain  in  this  as  in  any  other  track  of  com- 
merce. If  there  were  always  two  or  three  thousand  youths  for  seven  or  eight 
j-ears  bound  to  this  profession,  that  they  might  learn  the  whole  art  of  it,  and 
afterwards  be  enabled  to  be  masters  in  it,  by  a  moderate  stock,  I  can  not  doubt 
but  that  we  should  see  as  many  aldermen's  estates  made  in  the  country,  as  now 
we  do  out  of  all  kind  of  merchandising  in  the  citj'.  There  are  as  many  ways 
to  be  rich,  and  Avhich  is  better,  there  is  no  possibility  to  be  poor,  without  such 
negligence  as  can  neither  have  excuse  nor  pity;  for  a  little  ground  will  without 
question  feed  a  little  family,  and  the  superfluities  of  life  (which  are  now  in  some 
cases  by  custom  made  almost  necessarj-)  must  be  supplied  out  of  the  super- 
abundance of  art  and  industry,  or  contemned  by  as  great  a  degree  of  philosoph}'. 

Ae  for  the  necessity  of  this  art,  it  is  evident  enough,  since  this  can  live 
without  all  others,  and  no  one  other  without  this.  This  is  like  speech,  without 
which  the  society  of  men  can  not  be  preserved :  the  others  like  figures  and 
tropes  of  speech  which  serve  only  to  adorn  it.  Many  nations  have  lived,  and 
some  do  still,  without  any  art  but  this ;  not  so  elegantly,  I  confess,  but  still 
they  hve,  and  almost  all  the  other  arts  which  are  here  practiced,  are  beholding 
to  this  for  most  of  their  materials. 

The  innocence  of  this  life  is  the  next  thing  for  which  I  commend  it,  and  if 
husbandmen  preserve  not  that,  they  are  much  to  blame,  for  no  men  are  so  free 
from  the  temptations  of  iniquity.  They  live  by  what  they  can  get  by  industry 
from  the  earth,  and  others  by  what  they  can  catch  bj'  craft  from  men.  They 
•  live  upon  an  estate  given  them  by  their  mother,  and  others  upon  an  estate 
cheated  from  their  brethren.  They  live  like  sheep  and  kine  by  the  allowances 
of  nature,  and  others  like  wolves  and  foxes  by  the  acquisitions  of  rapine.  And, 
I  hope,  t  may  affrm  (without  any  offense  to  the  great)  that  sheep  and  kine  are 
very  useful,  and  that  wolves  and  foxes  are  pernicious  creatures.  They  are, 
without  dispute,  of  all  men  the  most  quiet  and  least  apt  to  be  inflamed  to  the 
disturbance  of  the  commonwealth  :  their  manner  of  life  inclines  them,  and 
interest  binds  them  to  love  peace.  In  our  late  mad  and  miserable  civil  wars, 
all  other  trades,  even  to  the  meanest,  set  forth  whole  troops,  and  raised  up 
some  great  commanders,  who  became  famous  and  mighty  for  the  mischiefs  they 


ESSAY  ON  AGRICULTURE 


21' 


had  dene;  but  I  do  not  rcmenibor  llie  name  of  any  ono  liusbandnian  wlio  had 
RO  considerable  a  share  in  tlie  twenty  years"  ruin  of  his  conntrj-,  as  to  deserve 
the  curses  of  his  countrymen  ;  and  if  great  dehghts  be  joined  with  so  mucli 
innocence,  I  tliink  it  is  ill  done  of  men  not  to  take  thein  here  where  the}'  are 
so  tame  and  ready  at  hand,  rather  than  iunit  i'or  them  in  courts  and  cities  where 
they  are  so  wild,  and  the  chase  so  troublesome  and  dangerous. 

We  are  here  among  the  vast  and  noble  scenes  of  nature  ;  we  are  there  among 
tlie  pitiful  shifts  of  policj- :  we  walk  here  in  the  light  and  open  ways  of  the 
divine  bouutj';  we  grope  there  in  the  dark  and  confused  labjTinths  of  human 
malice:  our  senses  are  here  feasted  with  the  clear  and  genuine  taste  of  their 
objects;  which  are  all  sophisticated  there,  and  for  the  most  part  overwhelmed 
with  their  contrc.ries.  Here  pleasure  looks  (methinks)  like  a  beautiful,  constant, 
and  modest  wife ;  it  is  there  an  impudent,  fickle,  and  painted  harlot.  Here  is 
harmless  and  cheap  plentj-,  there  guilty  and  expenseful  luxury. 

I  shall  only  instance  in  one  delight  more,  the  mo.st  natural  and  best  natured 
of  all  others,  a  perpetual  companion  of  the  hu.sbandman,  and  that  is  ihe  satis- 
faction of  looking  round  about  him,  and  seeing  nothing  but  tiie  efiects  and 
improvements  of  his  own  art  and  diligence,  to  be  always  gathering  of  some 
fruits  of  it,  and  at  the  same  time  to  behold  others  ripening,  and  others  budding; 
to  see  all  his  fields  and  gardens  covered  with  the  beauteous  creatures  of  iiis  own 
industry;  and  to  see,  like  God,  that  all  his  works  are  good. 

Hinc  atque  hinc  ghmer  antur  0)  cades ;  I'psi 

Agricoke  taciturn  perfeniant  gaudia  peciv^s. 

On  his  heart-string  a  secret  joy  does  strike. 

The  antiquity  of  his  art  is  certainly  not  to  be  contested  by  any  other.  The 
three  first  men  in  the  world  were  a  gardener,  a  ploughman,  and  a  grazier ;  and 
if  any  man  object  that  the  second  of  these  was  a  murtherer,  I  desire  he  would 
consider,  that  as  soon  as  lie  was  so,  he  quitted  our  profession  and  turned 
builder.  It  is  for  this  reason,  I  suppose,  that  Eaitsiasticu.s  forbids  us  to  hate 
liusbandry;  became  (saj'S  he)  the  Mo bt  High  has  created  it.  We  were  all  born  to 
this  art,  and  taught  by  nature  to  nourish  our  bodies  by  the  same  earth  out  of 
wliich  they  were  made,  and  to  which  they  must  return,  and  pay  at  last  for  their 
sustenance. 

Behold  the  original  and  primitive  nobility  of  all  tho.se  great  persons,  who  are 
too  proud  now,  not  only  to  till  the  ground,  but  almost  to  tread  upon  it.  We 
may  talk  what  we  plea.se  of  lilies,  and  lions  rampant,  and  spread  eagles  in  fields 
d'or.  or  d' argent ;  but  if  iieraldry  were  guided  by  reason,  a  plough  in  a  field 
arable  would  be  the  most  noble  and  ancient  arms. 

All  these  considerations  make  ine  fall  into  the  wonder  and  complaint  of  Colu- 
mella. How  it  should  come  to  pass  that  all  arts  or  sciences,  (for  the  dispute, 
which  -is  an  art,  and  which  a  science,  does  not  belong  to  the  curiosity  of  u.s 
Inasbandmen,)  metaphysics,  physic,  morality,  niathcmatics,  logic,  rhetoric,  &c., 
which  are  all,  I  grant,  pood  and  useful  faculties,  (except  onlj'  nnetaphysics, 
which  I  do  not  know  whether  it  be  any  thing  or  no.)  but  even  vaulting,  fencing, 
dancing,  attiring,  cookery,  carving,  and  such  like  vanities,  should  all  have  public 
schools  and  masters,  and  yet  that  we  should  nev^r  see  or  hear  of  anj'  man  who 
took  upon  him  the  profession  of  teaching  this  so  pleasant,  so  virtuous,  so  profit- 
able, so  honorable,  so  necessary,  art. 

A  man  would  think,  when  he's  in   serious  humor,   that  it  were  but  a  vain, 


218  ESSAY  ON  AGRICULTURE. 

irrational  and  ridiculous  tliinpr,  for  a  great  company  of  men  and  women  to  run 
up  and  down  in  a  room  together,  in  a  iiundred  several  postures  and  figures  to 
no  purpose,  and  with  no  design;  and  tlicrefore  dancing  was  invented  first,  and 
practiced  anciently  in  the  ceremonies  of  the  heathen  religion,  which  consisted 
all  in  mummery  and  madness;  tiie  latter  being  the  chief  glory  of  the  worship, 
and  accounted  divine  inspiration.  This,  I  say,  a  severe  man  would  think, 
though  I  dare  not  determine  so  far  against  so  customary  a  part  now  of  good 
breeding.  And  j-et,  who  is  there  among  our  gentry,  that  does  not  entertain  a 
dancing-master  for  his  children  as  soon  as  they  are  aVjle  to  walk  ?  But  did  ever 
any  father  [>rovide  a  tutor  for  his  son,  to  instruct  him  betimes  in  the  nature  and 
improvements  of  that  land  which  he  intended  to  leave  him?  That  is  at  least  a 
superfluity,  and  this  a  defect  in  our  manner  of  education;  and  therefore  I  could 
wish  (but  can  not  in  these  times  much  liope  to  see  it)  that  one  College  in  each 
University  were  erected  and  appropriated  to  this  study,  as  well  as  there  are  to 
medicine  and  the  civil  law.  There  would  be  no  need  of  making  a  body  of 
scholars  and  fellows,  with  certain  endowments,  as  in  other  colleges ;  it  would 
suffice,  if  after  the  manner  of  halls  in  Oxford,  there  were  onlj'  four  professors 
constituted,  (for  it  would  be  too  much  work  for  only  one  master,  or  principal,  as 
they  call  him  there)  to  teach  these  four  parts  of  it.  First,  aration,  and  all  things 
relating  to  it.  Secondly,  pasturage.  Thirdly,  gardens,  orchards,  vine3'ard.«,  and 
woods.  Fourthl}',  all  parts  of  rural  economy,  whicli  would  contain  the  govern- 
ment of  bees,  swine,  poultry',  deco)-s,  ponds,  &c.,  and  all  that  which  Vcoto  calls 
Villaticas  Fastiones,  together  with  the  sports  of  the  field  (which  ought  to  be 
looked  upon  not  only  as  pleasures,  but  as  parts  of  housekeeping)  and  the  domes- 
tical conservation  and  uses  of  all  that  is  brought  in  by  industry  abroad.  The 
business  of  these  professors  should  not  be,  as  is  commonly  practiced  in  other 
arts,  only  to  read  pompous  and  superficial  lectures  out  of  VirgiVs  Georgics, 
rUny,  Varro,  or  Columella,  but  to  instruct  their  pupils  in  the  whole  method  and 
course  of  this  study,  which  might  be  run  through  perhaps  with  diligence  in  a 
year  or  two ;  and  the  continual  succession  of  scholars,  upon  a  moderate  taxa- 
tion for  their  diet,  lodging  and  learning,  would  be  a  sufficient  constant  revenue 
for  maintenance  of  the  house  and  the  professors,  who  should  be  men  not  chosen 
for  the  ostentation  of  critical  literature,  but  for  solid  and  experimental  knowl- 
edge of  the  things  tliey  teach  such  men  ;  so  industrious  and  public-spirited  as  I 
conceive  Mr.  Ilartlib  to  be,  if  the  gentleman  be  yet  alive ;  but  it  is  needless  to 
speak  farther  of  my  thoughts  of  this  design,  unless  the  present  disposition  of 
the  age  allowed  more  probability  of  bringing  it  into  execution. 


SIR  MATTHEW  HALE. 

PLAN  OP  EDUCATION   FOR  HIS  GRANDCHILDEEir. 
Written  in  1678. 

In  a  "  Letter  of  Advice  to  his  Grandchildren,^''  written  when  he 
was  "  threescore  and  four  years,"  and  published  after  his  death,  Sir 
Matthew  Hale — one  of  the  most  resplendent  names  in  the  annals 
of  jurisprudence,  for  mental  ability,  general  learning,  purity  of  life, 
and  impartiality  as  judge — gives  the  following  plan  for  their  educa- 
tion, in  which  he  differs  "upon  great  reason  and  observation" 
"from  the  ordinary  method  of  tutors,"  not  only  in  his  day,  but  for 
two  centuries  afterwards  in  England  : — 

PLAN   OF  EDUCATION   FOR  BOYS  BETWEEN  THE   AGES   OF  EIGHT  AND  TWENTY 

As  to  you,  my  grandsons,  you  must  know,  that  till  you  come  to  be  about 
eighteen  or  twenty  years  old,  you  are  but  in  preparation  to  a  settled  estate  of 
life;  as  there  is  no  certain  conjecture  to  be  made  before  that  age  what  you  will 
be  fit  for,  so  till  that  age  you  are  under  the  hammer  and  the  file,  to  tit,  dispose, 
;ind  prepare  you  for  your  future  condition  of  life,  if  God  be  pleased  to  lend  it 
you;  and  about  that  time  it  will  probably  appear,  both  what  you  will  be  fit  for, 
and  whether  you  are  like  to  make  a  prosperous  voyage  in  the  world  or  not. 

1.  Until  you  come  to  eight  years  old,  I  expect  no  more  of  you  than  to  be 
good  English  scholars,  to  read  perfectly  and  distinctly  any  part  of  the  Bible,  or 
any  other  English  book,  and  to  carry  yourselves  respectfully  and  dutifully  to 
those  that  are  set  over  you. 

2.  About  eight  years  old,  you  are  to  be  put  or  sent  to  a  grammar  school, 
where  I  expect  you  should  make  a  good  progress  in  the  Latin  tongue,  in  ora- 
tory and  poetry ;  but  above  all  to  be  good  proficients  in  the  Latin  tongue,  that 
you  may  be  able  to  read,  understand  and  construe  any  Latin  author,  and  to 
make  true  and  handsome  Latin ;  and  though  I  would  have  you  learn  somewhat 
of  Greek,  yet  the  Latin  tongue  is  that  which  I  most  value,  because  almost  all 
learning  is  now  under  that  language.  And  the  time  for  your  abode  at  the 
grammar  school  is  till  you  are  about  sixteen  years  old. 

3.  After  that  age,  I  shall  either  remove  you  to  some  university,  or  to  some 
tutor  that  may  instruct  you  in  university  learning,  thus  to  be  educated  till  you 
are  about  twenty  years  old;  and  herein  I  shall  alter  the  ordinary  method  of 
tutors,  upon  great  reason  and  observation. 

I  therefore  will  have  you  employed  from  sixteen  to  seventeen  in  reading 
some  Latin  authors  to  keep  your  Latin  tongue ;  but  principally  and  chiefly  in 
arithmetic  and  geometry,  and  geodesy  or  measuring  of  heights,  distances,  and 
superficies  and  solids,  for  this  will  habituate  and  enlarge  your  understanding, 


220  S;K  MATTHEW  HALE. 

and  will  furnish  you  with  a  knowledge  which  will  be  both  delightful  and  use- 
ful all  the  daj's  of  your  life ;  and  will  give  you  a  pleasant  and  innocent  diver- 
sion and  entertainment  when  you  are  weary  and  tired  with  any  other  business. 

From  seventeen  years  old  till  nineteen  or  twenty,  you  may  principally  intend 
logic,  natural  philosophy,  and  metaphysics,  according  to  the  ordinary  discipline 
of  tlie  university ;  but  after  you  have  read  some  systems  or  late  topical  or  phi- 
losophical tracts  that  may  give  you  some  taste  of  the  nature  of  those  sciences, 
I  shall  advise  your  tutor  to  exercise  you  in  Aristotle,  for  there  is  more  sound 
learning  of  this  kind  to  be  found  in  him,  touching  these  sciences,  than  in  a  cart- 
load of  modern  authors ;  only  tutors  scarce  take  the  pains  to  understand  him 
themselves,  much  less  to  instruct  their  scholars  and  pupils  in  them,  insomuch, 
that  there  are  few  that  have  read  his  books. 

And  under  the  title  of  philosophy,  I  do  not  only  intend  his  eight  books  of 
physics,  but  his  books  de  Natura  et  Generatione  Animalium,  his  books  de  In- 
cestu  Animalium,  de  Anima,  de  Meteoriis,  de  Somno  et  Yigilia,  de  Morte,  de 
Plantis,  de  Mundo,  and  his  Mechanics,  if  you  join  thereunto  Archimedes'. 

These  are  part  of  real  phUosophy,  and  excellently  handled  by  him,  and  have 
more  of  use  and  improvement  of  the  mind  than  other  notional  speculations  in 
logic  or  philosophy  delivered  by  others ;  and  the  rather,  because  bare  specula- 
tions and  notions  have  little  experience  and  external  observation  to  confirm 
them,  and  they  rarely  fix  the  minds,  especially  of  young  men.  But  that  part 
of  philosophy  that  is  real,  may  be  improved  and  confirmed  by  daily  observa- 
tion ;  and  is  more  stable,  and  yet  more  certain  and  delightful,  and  goes  along 
with  a  man  all  his  life,  whatever  employment  or  profession  he  undertakes. 

4.  When  you  come  to  above  twenty  years  old,  you  are  come  to  the  critical 
age  of  your  life ;  you  are  in  that  state  of  choice  that  the  ancients  tell  us  was 
offered  to  Hercules;  on  the  left  hand,  a  way  of  pleasure,  of  luxury,  of  idleness, 
intemperance,  wantonness,  which  though  it  first  be  tempting  and  flattering,  yet 
it  ends  in  dishonor,  in  shame,  in  infamy,  in  poverty ;  such  a  way  as  the  wise 
man  spoke  of,  "There  is  a  way  that  is  pleasant  and  delightful,  but  the  end  of 
that  waj'  is  death ;"  and  that  which  the  same  wise  man  speaks  of,  (Eccles.  xi. 
9,)  "  Rejoice,  0  young  man,  in  thy  youth,  and  let  thy  heart  cheer  thee  in  the 
daj-s  of  thy  youth,  and  walk  in  the  ways  of  thine  heart.  But  know  for  all  these 
things,  God  will  bring  thee  into  judgment."  Again,  on  the  right  hand,  there  is 
a  way  of  honesty  and  sobriety,  of  piety  and  the  fear  of  God,  of  virtue  and  in- 
dustry ;  and  though  this  way  may  seem  at  first  painful  and  rugged,  yet  it  ends 
in  peace  and  favor  with  God,  and  commonly  in  honor  and  reputation,  in  wealth 
and  contentation  even  in  this  lile.  For  although  Almighty  God  hath  reserved 
greater  rewards  for  virtue  and  goodness  than  this  life  affords,  yet  he  loves  and 
delights  to  behold  good  and  comely  order  among  the  children  of  men ;  and 
therefore  a  wise  father  will  draw  on  his  children  to  goodness,  and  learning,  and 
obedience  to  him,  with  hand.some  rewards  and  encouragements,  suitable  to  the 
age  and  disposition  of  his  children.  So  the  great  Master  and  Father  of  the 
children  of  men,  and  of  the  great  familj-  of  heaven  and  earth,  doth  commonly 
invite  and  draw  men  to  ways  of  piety,  virtue  and  goodness,  by  the  encourage- 
ments of  reputation,  honor,  esteem,  wealth  and  other  outward  advantages,  and 
thereby  in  great  measure  governs  the  children  of  men.  and  maintains  that  order 
that  is  necessary  and  convenient  for  the  world  of  mankind. 

And  although  this  is  neither  the  only  nor  chief  reward  of  goodness  and  vir- 
tue yet  till  men  are  grown  to  that  ripeness  of  understanding  to  look  after  re- 


SIR  MATTHEW  HALE.  221 

wards  of  a  higher  nature,  namely,  the  happiness  of  the  life  to  come,  he  is  pleased 
most  wisely  to  make  use  of  these  inferior  encouragements  and  invitations,  like 
so  many  little  pulleys  and  cords,  to  draw  men  to  the  ways  of  virtue,  piety  and 
goodness,  wherein,  when  thej'  are  once  led  and  confirmed,  they  are  established 
in  higher  and  nobler  expectations,  namely,  the  love  of  God  and  the  beauty  of 
goodness  and  virtue.  And  on  tlie  right-hand  way,  there  are  not  only  pro- 
pounded certain  general  virtues  of  sobriety,  temperance  and  industry,  but  there 
are  also  certain  particular  walksof  industry  and  virtue,  and  the  exercise  thereof 
in  certain  especial  callings  and  employments,  some  more  liberal  and  eminent,  as 
divines,  physicians,  lawyers.  &c.  Some  more  laborious,  yet  generous  enough, 
as  husbandry,  the  primitive  and  most  innocent  employment,  is  such  as  becomes 
noblemen  and  gentlemen.  Some  of  other  kinds,  as  merchants  and  handicrafts. 
And  to  all  these  employments,  justly  and  industriously  followed,  Almighty  God 
hath  annexed  a  blessing;  for  they  conduce  to  the  good  of  mankind,  and  the 
maintenance  of  human  societies,  and  the  convenient  support  of  persons  and 
families. 

And  when  you  come  to  about  this  age,  unless  you  are  corrupted  by  idleness, 
evil  company  or  debauchery,  your  minds  will  begin  to  settle,  and  your  inclina- 
tions will  begin  to  bend  themselves  towards  some  of  these  employments,  and 
to  a  steady  course  of  life.  And  although  it  may  please  God  to  order  things  so 
that  you  may  not  be  put  upon  the  necessity  to  take  any  of  these  professions 
upon  you  for  your  subsistence,  because  I  may  leave  you  a  competent  provision 
otherways,  yet  a.ssure  yourselves  a  calling  is  so  far  from  being  a  burthen  or* 
dishonor  to  any  of  you,  that  it  Avill  be  a  great  advantage  to  you  every  way  to 
be  of  some  profession ;  and  therefore  I  commend  some  of  them  to  your  choice, 
especially  for  such  of  you  whose  fortunes  may  not  be  so  plentiful. 

But  if  you  should  not  fix  to  any  of  these  more  regular  professions,  as  divinitj', 
law,  or  physic,  j'^et  I  would  have  you  so  far  acquainted  with  them,  as  that  you 
may  be  able  to  understand,  and  maintain,  and  hold  fast,  the  religion  in  which 
j'^ou  have  by  me  been  educated;  and  so  much  of  the  laws  of  the  kingdom,  as 
may  instruct  you  how  to  defend  the  estate  that  shall  be  left  you,  and  to  order 
your  lives  conformable  to  those  laws  under  which  you  live,  and  to  give  at  least 
common  advice  to  your  neighbors  in  matters  of  ordinary  or  common  concern- 
ment ;  and  so  much  of  physic,  especially  of  anatomy,  as  may  make  you  know 
your  own  frame,  and  maintain  and  preserve  your  health  by  good  diet,  and  those 
ordinary  helps,  a  good  herbal  or  garden  may  afford. 

And  although  you  should  not  addict  yourselves  professedly  to  any  of  these 
three  callings,  yet  I  would  have  you  all  acquainted  with  husbandry,  planting 
and  ordering  of  a  country  farm,  which  is  the  most  innocent,  and  yet  most  neces- 
sary emploj^ment,  and  such  as  becomes  the  best  gentleman  in  England ;  for  it 
is  a  miserable  thing  to  see  a  man  master  of  an  estate  in  lands,  and  yet  not  know 
how  to  manage  it,  but  must  either  be  at  the  mercy  of  tenants  or  servants,  or 
otherwise  he  knows  not  how  to  live,  being  utterly  a  stranger  to  hnsbandr}^ ;  and 
therefore  must  be  beholden  to  a  tenant  or  a  servant  for  his  subsistence,  who 
many  times  knowing  their  own  advantage,  by  the  ignorance,  carelessness  or  idle- 
ness of  a  master  or  landlord,  set  the  dice  upon  him,  and  use  him  as  they  please. 
I  have  always  observed,  a  countrj"-  gentleman  that  hath  a  competent  estate  ot 
lands  in  his  hands,  and  lives  upon  it,  stocks  it  himself,  and  understands  it,  and 
manages  it  in  his  own  hands,  lives  more  plcntifull}',  breeds  up  his  children  more 
handsomely,  and  in  a  way  of  industry,  is  better  loved  in  his  country,  and  doth 


222 


SIR  MATTHEW  HALE. 


more  good  in  it,  than  he  that  hath  twice  the  revenue  and  lives  upon  his  rents, 
or  it  may  be  in  the  city,  whereby  both  himself,  and  family,  and  children,  learn 
a  life  of  idleness  and  expense,  and  many  times  of  debauchery.  And  therefore 
if  you  can  not  settle  your  minds  to  any  other  profession,  yet  I  would  have  you 
be  acquainted  with  tlie  course  of  husbandry,  and  manage  at  least  some  consid- 
able  part  of  your  estate  in  your  own  hands.  And  this  you  may  do  without  any 
disparagement,  for  tlie  life  of  a  husbandman  is  not  unseemly  for  any  of  the  chil- 
dren of  Adam  or  Noah,  who  began  it ;  and  although  that  employment  requires 
attendance  and  industry,  as  well  as  knowledge  and  experience,  yet  it  will 
afford  a  man  competent  time  for  such  other  studies  and  employments  as  may 
become  a  scholar  or  a  gentleman,  a  good  patriot  or  justice  in  his  country. 

Though  all  callings  and  employments  carry  with  them  a  gratefulness  and  con- 
tenting variety  much  more  than  idleness  and  intemperance,  or  debauchery,  yet 
in  whatsoever  calling  you  are  settled,  though  that  calling  must  be  your  princi- 
pal business,  and  such  as  you  must  principally  applj'  yourselves  unto,  yet  I 
thought  it  always  necessary  to  have  some  innocent  diversions  for  leisure  times ; 
because  it  takes  off  the  tediousness  of  business,  and  prevents  a  worse  mis- 
spending of  the  time.  I  therefore  commend  to  those  gentlemen,  of  what  pro- 
fession soever,  that  they  spend  their  spare  and  leisure  hours  in  reading  of  his- 
tory or  mathematics,  in  experimental  philosophy,  in  searching  out  the  kinds 
and  natures  of  trees  and  plants,  herbs,  flowers,  and  other  vegetables ;  nay,  in 
observing  of  insects,  in  mathematical  observations,  in  measuring  land ;  nay,  in 
the  more  cleanly  exercise  of  smithery,  watch-making,  carpentry,  joinery  works 
of  all  sorts.  These  and  the  like  Innocent  diversions  give  these  advantages: — 
1.  They  improve  a  man's  knowledge  and  understanding;  2.  They  render  him 
fit  for  many  employments  of  use;  3.  They  take  off  the  tediousness  of  one  em- 
ployment; 4.  They  prevent  diversions  of  worse  kinds,  as  going  to  taverns,  or 
games,  and  the  like;  5.  They  rob  no  time  from  your  constant  calling,  but  only 
spend  with  usefulness  and  delight  that  time  that  can  be  well  spared. 


SOME  THOUGHTS  ON  EDUCATION, 


BY  JOHN  LOCKE. 


SOME  THOUGHTS  ON  EDUCATION, 

BY   JOHN    LOCKE. 


DEDICATION   TO   EDWARD   CLARKE,   OF   CHIPLEY. 

Sir, — These  Thoughts  concerning  Education,  which  now  come  abroad  into  the 
•world,  do  of  right  belong  to  you,  being  written  several  years  since  for  your  sake, 
and  are  no  other  than  what  you  have  already  by  you  in  my  letters.  I  have  so 
little  varied  any  thing,  but  only  the  order  of  what  was  sent  you  at  different  times, 
and  on  several  occasions,  that  the  reader  will  easily  find,  in  the  familiarity  and 
fashion  of  the  style,  that  they  were  rather  the  private  conversation  of  two  friends 
than  a  discourse  designed  for  public  view. 

The  importunity  of  friends  is  the  common  apology  for  publications  men  are 
jifraid  to  own  themselves  forward  to.  But  you  know  I  can  truly  say,  that  if  some 
who  having  heard  of  these  papers  of  mine,  had  not  pressed  to  see  them,  and 
afterward  to  have  them  printed,  they  had  lain  dormant  still  in  that  privacy  they 
were  designed  for.  But  those  whose  judgment  I  defer  much  to,  telling  me,  that 
they  were  persuaded,  that  this  rough  draught  of  mine  might  be  of  some  use,  if 
made  more  public,  touched  upon  what  will  always  be  very  prevalent  with  me. 
For  I  think  it  every  man's  indispensable  duty,  to  do  all  the  service  he  can  to  his 
■country ;  and  I  see  not  what  difference  he  puts  between  himself  and  his  cattle, 
who  lives  without  that  thought.  This  subject  is  of  so  great  concernment,  and  a 
right  way  of  education  is  of  so  general  advantage,  that  did  I  find  my  abilities  an- 
swer my  wishes,  I  should  not  have  needed  exhortations  or  importunities  from 
others.  However,  the  meanness  of  these  papers,  and  my  just  distrust  of  them, 
shall  not  keep  me,  by  the  shame  of  doing  so  little,  from  contributing  my  mite, 
where  there  is  no  more  required  of  me  than  my  throwing  it  into  the  public  recep- 
tacle. And  if  there  be  any  more  of  their  size  and  notions,  who  liked  them  so 
well  that  they  thought  them  worth  printing,  I  may  flatter  myself  they  will  not 
be  lost  labor  to  every  body. 

I  myself  have  been  consulted  of  late  by  so  many,  who  profess  themselves  at  a 
Joss  how  to  breed  their  children,  and  the  early  corruption  of  youth  is  now  become 
so  general  a  complaint,  that  he  can  not  be  thought  wholly  impertinent  who 
brings  the  consideration  of  this  matter  on  the  stage,  and  offers  something,  if  it 
Oe  but  to  excite  others,  or  afford  matter  of  correction.  For  errors  in  education 
fshoidd  be  less  indulged  than  any  ;  these,  like  faults  in  the  first  concoction,  that 
are  never  mended  in  the  second  or  third,  carry  their  afterward-incorrigible  taint 
with  them  through  all  the  parts  and  stations  of  life. 

I  am  so  far  from  being  conceited  of  any  thing  I  have  here  offered,  that  I  should 
not  be  sorry,  even  for  your  sake,  if  some  one  abler  and  fitter  for  such  a  task 
would,  in  a  just  treatise  of  education,  suited  to  our  English  gentry,  rectify  the 
mistakes  I  have  made  in  this  ;  it  being  much  more  desirable  to  me,  that  young 
gentlemen  should  be  put  into  (that  which  every  one  ought  to  be  solicitous  about,) 
the  best  way  of  being  formed  and  instructed,  than  that  my  opinion  should  be 
received  concerning  it.  You  will,  however,  in  the  meantime  bear  me  witness, 
that  the  method  here  proposed  has  had  no  ordinary  effects  upon  a  gentleman's 
t<on  it  was  not  designed  for.  I  will  not  say  the  good  temper  of  the  child  did 
not  very  much  contribute  to  it,  but  this  I  tliink  you  and  the  parents  are  satisfied 
of,  that  a  contrary  usage,  according  to  the  ordinary  disciplining  of  children,  would 
-not  have  amended  that  temper,  nor  have  brought  liiiii  to  be  in  love  with  his  book 


226  LOCKR  ON  EDUCATION. 

to  take  a  iileasure  in  learning,  and  to  desire,  as  he  does,  to  l)e  taught  more  tlian. 
those  about  him  think  fit  always  to  teach  him. 

But  my  business  is  not  to  recommend  this  treatise  to  you,  whose  opinion  of  it 
I  know  already  ;  nor  it  to  the  world,  either  by  your  opinion  or  patronage.  The 
well  educating  of  their  children  is  so  much  the  duty  and  concern  of  parents,  and 
the  welfare  and  prosperity  of  the  nation  so  much  depends  on  it,  that  I  would 
have  every  one  lay  it  seriously  to  heart;  and,  after  having  well  examined  .uid 
distinguished  what  fancy,  custom,  or  reason  advises  in  the  case,  set  his  helping 
hand  to  promote  every  where  that  way  of  training  up  youth,  with  regard  t'.  their 
several  conditions,  which  is  the  easiest,  shortest,  and  likeliest  to  proiliioe  virtu- 
ous, useful,  and  able  men  in  their  distinct  callings ;  though  that  most  to  bo  taken 
care  of  is  the  gentleman's  calling.  For  if  those  of  that  rank  arc  by  tlu-ir  educa- 
tion once  set  right,  they  will  quickly  bring  all  the  rest  into  order. 

I  know  not  \\'hether  I  have  done  more  than  shown  my  good  wishes  to^\ard  it 
m  this  short  discourse  ;  such  as  it  is,  the  world  now  has  it;  and  if  there  be  any 
thing  in  it  worth  their  acceptance,  they  owe  their  thanks  to  you  for  it.  My  affec- 
tion to  you  gave  the  first  rise  to  it,  and  I  am  pleased,  that  I  can  leave  to  posterity 
this  mark  of  the  friendship  has  been  between  us.  For  I  know  no  greater  pleasure- 
in  this  life,  nor  a  better  remembrance  to  be  lel't  behind  one,  than  a  long  con- 
tinued friendship,  with  an  honest,  useful,  and  worthy  man,  and  lover  of  hij* 
country.  I  am.  Sir, 

Your  most  humble 

And  most  faithful  servant, 

March  7,  1690.  John  Locke. 

EDUCATION    IN    GENERAL. 

1.  A  sound  mind  in  a  sound  body,  is  a  short  but  full  dcscnption  of  a  happy 
state  in  this  world:  he  that  has  these  two,  has  little  more  to  wish  for;  and  he 
that  wants  either  of  them,  will  be  but  little  the  better  for  any  thing  else.  Men's 
happiness  or  miserj'  is  most  part  of  their  own  making.  He  whose  mind  directs 
not  wiseh^  will  never  take  the  right  way ;  and  he  whose  bodj^  is  crazy  and 
feeble,  will  never  be  able  to  advance  in  it.  I  confess,  there  are  some  men's  con- 
stitutions of  body  and  mind  so  vigorous,  and  well-framed  by  nature,  that  they 
need  not  much  assistance  from  others;  but,  by  the  strength  of  their  natural 
genius,  they  are,  from  their  cradles,  carried  toward  what  is  excellent ;  and,  by 
the  privilege  of  their  happy  constitutions,  are  able  to  do  wonders.  But  exam- 
ples of  this  kind  are  but  few ;  and  I  think  I  may  say,  that,  of  all  the  men  we 
meet  with,  nine  parts  of  ten  are  what  they  are,  good  or  evil,  useful  or  not,  by- 
their  education.  It  is  that  which  makes  the  great  difference  in  mankind.  The 
little,  or  almost  insensible,  impressions  on  our  tender  infancies,  have  very 
important  and  lasting  consequences:  and  there  it  is,  as  in  the  fountains  of  some 
rivers  where  a  gentle  application  of  the  hand  turns  the  flexible  waters  into  chan- 
nels, that  make  them  take  quite  contrary  courses ;  and  by  this  little  direction,, 
given  them  at  first,  in  the  source,  they  receive  different  tendencies,  and  arrive  at 
last  at  very  remote  and  distant  places. 

PHYSICAL   EDUCATION.       HEALTH. 

2.  I  imagine  tlio  minds  of  cliiUlren  as  easily  turned,  this  or  that  way,  as  water 
Itself;  and  though  this  be  the  principal  part,  and  our  main  care  should  be  about 
the  inside,  yet  the  clay  cottage  is  not  to  be  neglected.  I  shall  therefori'  begin 
with  the  case,  and  consider  first  the  lienlth  of  tlie  body,  :is  that  which  pi-rhnps 
you  may  rather  expect,  from  that  study  I  have  been  thought  more  peculiarly  to 
have  applied  mj-self  to;  and  that  also  wliicli  will  be  soonest  dispatclicd,  as 
lying,  if  T  cruoss  not  amiss,  in  a  vi-ry  little  fonip;!SS. 


LOCKi:  f)\  EDI  CATION.  227 

3  Kow  necessary  liealth  is  to  our  business  and  liappiness,  and  Iiow  requisite 
a  strong  constitution,  able  to  endure  liardships  and  fatigue,  is  to  one  that  will 
make  any  figure  in  the  world,  is  too  oljvious  to  need  any  proof. 

TEXDERXESS. 

4.  The  consideration  I  shall  here  have,  of  health,  shall  be,  not  what  a  physi- 
cian ought  to  do,  with  a  sick  or  crazy  child ;  but  what  the  parents,  without  the 
help  of  phj'sic,  should  do  for  the  preservation  and  improvement  of  an  healthy, 
or  at  least,  not  sickly  constitution,  in  their  children :  and  this  perhaps  miglit  be 
all  despatched  in  this  one  short  rule,  viz.,  that  gentlemen  should  use  tlieir  chil- 
dren as  the  honest  farmers  and  substantial  j^eomen  do  theirs.  But  because  the 
mothers,  possibly,  may  think  this  a  little  too  hard,  and  the  fathers,  too  short,  I 
shall  explain  myself  more  particularly  ;  only  laying  down  this,  as  a  general  and 
certain  observation  for  the  women  to  consider,  viz.,  that  most  children's  consti- 
tutions are  either  spoiled,  or  at  least  harmed,  by  cockering  and  tenderness. 

W.iRMTH. 

5.  The  first  thing  to  be  taken  care  of  is,  that  children  be  not  too  warmly  clad 
or  covered,  winter  or  summer.  The  face,  when  we  are  born,  is  no  less  tender 
than  any  other  part  of  the  body ;  it  is  use  alone  hardens  it,  and  makes  it  more 
able  to  endure  the  cold.  And  therefore  the  Scythian  philosopher  gave  a  very 
significant  answer  to  the  Athenian,  who  wondered  how  he  could  go  naked  in 
frost  and  snow:  "How,"  said  the  Scythian,  "can  ybu  endure  your  face  exposed 
to  the  sharp  winter  air?"  "  My  face  is  used  to  it,"  said  the  Athenian.  "  Think 
me  all  face,"  replied  the  Scythian.  Our  bodies  will  endure  any  thing  that  from 
the  beginning  they  are  accustomed  to. 

An  eminent  instance  of  this,  though  in  the  contrary  excess  of  heat,  being  to 
our  present  purpose,  to  show  what  use  can  do,  I  shall  set  down  in  the  author's 
words,  as  I  met  with  it  in  a  late  ingenious  voyage:*  "The  heats,"  says  he, 
"are  more  violent  in  Malta  than  in  any  part  of  Europe:  tliey  exceed  those  of 
Rome  itself,  and  are  perfectly  stifling;  and  so  much  the  more,  because  there  are 
seldom  any  cooling  breezes  here.  This  makes  the  common  people  as  black  as 
gypsies :  but  yet  the  peasants  defy  the  sun :  they  work  on  in  the  hottest  part 
of  the  day,  without  intermission,  or  sheltering  themselves  from  his  scorching 
rays.  This  has  convinced  me  that  nature  can  bring  itself  to  raanj'  things  which 
seem  impossible,  provided  we  accustom  ourselves  from  our  infancy.  The  Mal- 
tese do  so,  who  harden  the  bodies  of  their  children,  ^nd  reconcile  them  to  the 
heat,  by  making  them  ^o  stark  naked,  without  shirt,  drawers,  or  anv  thing  on 
their  head,  from  their  cradles,  till  they  are  ten  yeaVs  old." 

Give  me  leave,  therefore,  to  advise  you  not  to  fence  too  carefully  against  the 
cold  of  this  our  climate :  there  are  those  in  England,  who  wear  the  same  clothes 
winter  and  summer,  and  that  without  any  inconvenience,  or  more  sense  of  cold 
than  others  find.  But  if  the  mother  will  needs  have  an  allowance  for  frost  and 
snow,  for  fear  of  harm,  and  the  fether,  for  fear  of  censure,  be  sure  let  not  his 
winter-clothing  be  too  warm ;  and  amongst  other  tilings  remember,  that  when 
nature  lias  so  well  covered  his  head  with  hair,  and  strengthened  it  with  a  year 
or  two's  age,  that  he  can  run  about  by  day,  without  a  cap.  it  is  best  that  by 
night  a  child  should  also  lie  without  one ;  there  being  nothing  that  more  ex- 

*  Noiive;iii  \'ii 


228  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

poses  to  headache,  colds,  catarrhs,   coughs,  and  several  other  diseases,  than 
keeping  the  head  warm. 

6.  I  have  said  he  here,  because  the  principal  aim  of  my  discourse  is,  how  a 
young  genileman  should  be  brought  up  from  his  infancy,  wliich  in  all  things  will 
not  so  perfectly  suit  the  education  of  daughters;  thougli,  where  the  difference 
of  sex  requires  different  treatment,  it  will  be  no  hard  matter  to  distinguish. 

FEET.       ALTERATIONS. 

7.  I  would  also  advise  his  feet  to  be  washed  every  daj'^  in  cold  water ;  and  to 
have  his  shoes  so  thin,  that  they  might  leak  and  let  in  water,  whenever  he 
comes  near  it.*  Here,  I  fear,  I  shall  have  the  mistress,  and  maids  too,  against 
me.  One  will  think  it  too  filthy ;  and  the  other,  perhaps,  too  much  pains  to 
make  clean  his  stockings.  But  yet  truth  will  have  it,  that  his  health  is  much 
more  worth  than  all  such  considerations,  and  ten  times  as  much  more.  And  he 
that  considers  how  mischievous  and  mortal  a  thing  taking  wet  in  the  feet  is,  to 
those  who  have  been  bred  nicel3',.will  wish  he  had,  with  the  poor  people's  chil- 
dren, gone  barefoot ;  who,  by  that  means,  come  to  be  so  reconciled  by  custom, 
to  wet  their  feet,  that  they  take  no  more  cold  or  harm  by  it  than  if  they  were 
wet  in  their  hands.  And  what  is  it,  I  pray,  that  makes  this  great  difference 
between  the  hands  and  the  feet  in  others,  but  only  custom  ?  I  doubt  not,  but 
-if  a  man  from  his  cradle  had  been  always  used  to  go  barefoot,  whilst  his  hands 
were  constantly  wrapped  up  in  warm  mittens,  and  covered  with  hand  shoes,  as 
the  Dutch  call  gloves ;  I  doubt  not,  I  say,  but  such  a  custom  would  make  tak- 
ing wet  in  his  hands  as  dangerous  to  him,  as  now  taking  wet  in  their  feet  is  to 
a  great  many  otliers.  The  way  to  prevent  this,  is  to  have  his  shoes  made  so  as 
to  leak  water,  and  his  feet  washed  constantly  every  day  in  cold  water.  It  is 
Tecommendable  for  its  cleanliness :  but  that,  which  I  aim  at  in  it.  is  health. 
And  therefore  I  limit  it  not  precisely  to  any  time  of  the  day.  I  have  known  it 
used  every  night  with  very  good  success,  and  that  all  the  winter,  without  the 
omitting  it  so  much  as  one  night,  in  extreme  cold  weatlier : .  when  thick  ice  cov- 
ered the  water,  the  child  bathed  his  legs  and  feet  in  it ;  thougli  he  was  of  an 
age  not  big  enough  to  rub  and  wipe  them  himself;  and  when  he  began  this 
■custom,  was  puling  and  very  tender.  But  the  greater  end  being  to  harden 
those  parts,  by  a  frequent  and  familiar  use  of  cold  water,  and  thereby  to  pre- 
vent the  mischiefs  that  usually  attend  accidental  taking  wet  in  the  feet,  in  those 
who  are  bred  otherwise ;  I  think  it  may  be  left  to  the  prudence  and  conven- 
ience of  the  parents,  to  choose  either  night  or  morning.  The  time  I  deem  in- 
different, so  the  thing  be  effectually  done.  The  health  and  hardiness  procured 
by  it,  would  be  a  good  purchase  at  a  much  dearer  rate.  To  which  if  I  add  the 
preventing  of  corns,  that  to  some  men  would  bo  a  very  valuable  consideration. 
But  begin  first  in  the  spring  with  lukewarm,  and  so  colder  and  colder  every 
time,  till  in  a  few  days  you  come  to  perfectly  cold  water,  and  then  continue  it 
-so,  winter  and  summer.  For  it  is  to  be  observed  in  this,  as  in  all  other  altera- 
tions from  our  ordinary  way  of  hving,  the  changes  must  bo  made  by  gentle  and 
insensible  degrees ;  and  so  we  may  bring  our  bodies  to  any  thing,  without  pain, 
and  without  danger. 

How  fond  mothers  are  like  to  receive  this  doctrine,  is  not  hard  to  foresee. 

*  It  is  necessary,  perhaps,  here  to  remind  the  reader,  that,  to  secure  the  advantage  of  a  fall 
and  exact  reprint  of  Mr.  Locke's  Thoughts,  it  was  necessary  to  Inchide  several  things  whicb 
.ought  to  be  regarded  rather  as  peculiarities  of  opinion,  than  as  salutary  suggestions— Ed. 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  339 

What  cau  it  be  less  than  to  murder  their  tender  babes,  to  use  them  thus? 
What !  put  their  feet  in  cold  water  in  frost  and  snow,  when  all  one  can  do  is 
little  enough  to  keep  them  warm !  A  little  to  remove  their  fears  by  examples, 
without  which  the  plainest  reason  is  seldom  hearkened  to  ;  Seneca  tells  us  of 
himselfj  ep.  53  and  83,  that  he  used  to  bathe  himself  in  cold  spring- water  in  the 
midst  of  winter.  This,  if  he  had  not  thought  it  not  only  tolerable,  but  healthy 
too,  he  would  scarce  have  done,  in  an  exuberant  fortune,  tliat  could  well  have 
borne  tlie  expense  of  a  warm  bath :  and  in  an  age,  (for  he  was  then  old,)  that 
would  have  excused  greater  indulgence.  If  we  think  his  stoical  principles  led 
'iim  to  this  severity;  let  it  be  so,  that  this  sect  reconciled  cold  water  to  his  suf- 
lerance :  what  made  it  agreeable  to  his  health  ?  for  that  was  not  impaired  by 
this  hard  usage.  But  what  shall  -."e  say  to  Horace,  who  armed  not  himself 
with  the  reputation  of  any  sect,  and  leasx.  ?f  all  affected  stoical  austerities?  yet 
he  assures  us,  he  was  wont  in  the  winter  season  ^'o  bathe  himself  in  cold  water. 
But  perhaps  Italy  will  be  thought  much  warmer  than  England,  and  the  chill- 
ness  of  their  waters  not  to  come  near  ours  in  winter.  If  the  rivers  of  Italy  are 
warmer,  those  of  Germany  and  Poland  are  much  colder,  than  any  in  this  our 
country ;  and  yet  in  these  the  Jews,  both  men  and  women,  bathe  all  over  at  all 
seasons  of  the  year,  without  any  prejudice  to  their  health.  And  every  one  is  not 
apt  to  believe  it  is  a  miracle,  or  any  peculiar  virtue  of  St.  Winifred's  well,  that 
makes  the  cold  waters  of  that  famous  spring  do  no  harm  to  the  tender  bodies 
that  bathe  in  it.  ilvery  one  is  now  full  of  the  miracles  done,  by  cold  baths,  on 
decayed  and  weak  constitutions,  for  the  recovery  of  health  and  strength ;  and 
therefore  they  can  not  be  impracticable,  or  intolerable,  for  the  improving  and 
hardening  the  bodies  of  those  who  are  in  better  circumstances. 

If  these  examples  of  grown  men  be  not  thought  yet  to  reach  the  case  of  cliil- 
dren,  but  that  they  may  be  judged  still  to  be  too  tender  and  unable  to  bear  such 
usage ;  let  them  examine  what  the  Germans  of  old,  and  the  Irish  now  do  to 
them ;  and  they  will  find  that  infants  too,  as  tender  as  they  are  thought,  may, 
without  any  danger,  endure  bathing,  not  only  of  their  feet,  but  of  their  whole 
bodies  in  cold  water.  And  there  are,  at  this  day,  ladies  in  the  Highlands  of 
Scotland,  who  use  this  discipline  to  their  children,  in  the  midst  of  winter;  and 
find  that  cold  water  does  them  no  harm,  even  when  there  is  ice  in  it. 

SWIMMING. 

8.  I  shall  not  need  liere  to  mention  swimming,  when  he  is  of  an  age  able  ta 
learn  and  lias  any  one  to  teach  him.  It  is  that  saves  many  a  man's  life :  and 
the  Romans  thought  it  so  necessary,  that  they  ranked  it  with  letters  ;  and  it 
was  tlie  common  phrase  to  mark  one  ill  educated,  and  good  for  nothing,  that  he- 
had  neither  learned  to  read  nor  to  swim :  "^ec  literas  didicit,  nee  natarey  But 
besides  the  gaining  of  skill,  which  may  serve  him  at  need;  tlie  advantages  to 
health,  by  often  bathing  in  cold  water,  during  the  heat  of  summer,  are  so  many, 
that  I  think  nothing  need  be  said  to  encourage  it ;  provided  this  one  caution  be 
used,  that  he  never  go  into  the  water  when  exercise  has  at  all  warmed  him,  or 
left  any  emotion  in  his  blood  or  pulse. 

AIK. 

9.  Another  thing  that  is  of  great  advantage  to  every  one's  health,  but  espec- 
ially children's,  is  to  be  much  in  the  open  air,  and  very  little,  as  may  be,  by  the 
fire,  even  in  winter.     By  tliis  lie  wi'l  accustom  himself  also  to  heat  and  cold. 


230  I.OCKK  ON   KDIICATION. 

siiine  and  rain;  all  wliidi  if  a  man's  body  will  not  endure,  it  will  serve  him  to 
very  little  jjurpose  in  this  world ;  and  when  he  is  grown  up,  it  is  too  late  to  be- 
ix'in  to  use  him  to  it :  it  must  be  got  early  and  bj-  degrees.  Thus  the  body  may 
be  brought  to  bear  almost  any  thing.  If  I  should  advise  him  to  play  in  the 
wind  and  sun  without  a  hat,  I  doubt  whether  it  could  be  borne.  There  would 
IX  thousand  objections  be  made  against  it,  which  at  last  would  amount  to  no 
more,  in  truth,  than  being  sun-burnt.  And  if  my  young  ma.ster  be  to  be  kept 
always  in  the  shade,  and  never  exposed  to  the  sun  ami  wind,  fur  fear  of  his 
complexion,  it  maj'  be  a  good  way  to  make  him  a  beau,  but  not  a  man  of  busi- 
ness. And  although  greater  regard  be  to  be  had  to  beauty  in  the  daughters, 
jet  I  will  take  the  liberty  to  say,  that  the  more  they  are  in  the  air,  without 
prejudice  to  their  faces,  the  stronger  and  healthier  they  will  Ije;  and  the  nearer 
they  come  to  the  hardships  of  their  brothers  in  their  education,  the  greater  ad- 
vantage will  they  receive  from  it,  all  the  remaining  part  of  their  lives. 


10.  Playing  in  the  open  air  has  but  this  one  danger  in  it,  that  I  know;  and 
that  is,  that  when  he  is  hot  with  running  up  and  down,  he  should  sit  or  lie 
down  on  the  cold  or  moist  earth.  This.  I  grant,  and  drinking  cold  drink,  when 
they  are  hot  with  labor  or  exercise,  brings  more  people  to  the  grave,  or  to  the 
brink  of  it,  by  fevers  and  other  diseases,  than  any  thing  I  know.  These  mis- 
chiefs are  easil}'  enough  prevented,  whilst  he  is  little ;  being  then  seldom  out 
of  sight.  And  if  during  his  childhood  he  be  constantly  and  rigorously  kept  from 
sitting  on  the  ground,  or  drinking  any  cold  liquor,  whilst  lie  is  hot,  the  custom 
of  forbearing,  grown  into  a  habit,  will  help  much  to  preserve  him,  when  he  is 
no  longer  under  his  maid's  or  tutor's  eye.  This  is  all  I  think  can  be  done  in  the 
case.  For,  as  years  increase,  liberty  must  come  with  them ;  and,  in  a  great 
many  things,  he  must  be  trusted  to  his  own  conduct,  since  there  can  not  always 
be  a  guard  upon  him ;  except  what  you  put  into  his  own  mind,  b}'  good  prin- 
ciples and  established  habits,  which  is  the  best  and  surest,  and  therefore  most 
to  be  taken  care  of.  For,  from  repeated  cautions  and  rules,  ever  so  often  incul- 
cated, you  are  not  to  expect  any  thing,  either  in  this  or  any  other  case,  Airther 
than  praeiice  has  established  them  into  habit. 

CI.OTIIKS. 

n.  One  thing  the  mention  of  the  girls  brings  into  my  mind,  wliich  must  not 
be  forgot;  and  that  is,  that  your  sons  clothes  be  never  made  strait,  especially 
about  the  breast.  Let  nature  have  scope  to  fashion  the  body  as  she  thinks 
best.  She  works  of  herself  a  great  deal  better  and  exacter  than  we  can  direct 
her.  And  if  women  were  themselves  to  frame  the  bodies  of  their  children  in 
their  wombs,  as  they  often  endeavor  to  mend  their  shapes  when  they  are  out, 
we  should  as  certainly  have  no  perfect  children  born,  as  we  have  few  well- 
shaped,  that  are  strait-laced,  or  much  tampered  with.  This  consideration 
should,  methinks,  keep  busy  people,  (1  will  not  say  ignorant  nurses  and  boddice- 
makers.)  from  meddling  in  a  matter  they  understand  not;  and  they  should  be 
iitVaid  to  put  nature  out  of  her  way.  in  fashioning  the  part.s,  when  they  know 
not  how  the  least  and  meanest  is  made.  And  vet  I  have  seen  so  many  instances 
of  children  receiving  great  harm  from  strait  lacing,  that  I  can  not  but  conclude, 
there  are  other  creatures,  as  well  as  monkeys,  who,  little  wiser  than  they,  de- 
strov  their  voung  ones  bv  senseless  fondness,  and  too  much  embracing. 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  231 

12.  Narrow  breasts,  short  and  fetid  breath,  ill  luog-s,  and  crookedness,  are  the 
natural  and  almost  constant  eftects  of  hard  boddice,  and  clothes  that  pinch. 
That  way  of  making  slender  waists,  and  fine  shaj^es,  serves  but  the  more  effect- 
ually to  spoil  them.  Nor  can  there,  indeed,  but  be  disproportion  in  the  parts, 
when  the  nourishment  prepared  in  the  several  offices  of  the  body,  can  not  be 
distributed,  as  nature  designs.  And  therefore,  what  wonder  is  it,  if,  it  being 
laid  where  it  can,  or  some  part  not  so  braced,  it  often  makes  a  shoulder,  or  a  hip, 
higher  or  bigger  than  its  just  proportion  ?  It  is  generally  known,  that  the  wo- 
men of  China,  (imagining  I  know  not  what  kind  of  beauty  in  it,)  by  bracing  and 
binding  them  hard  from  their  infancy,  have  very  little  feet.  I  saw  lately  a  pair 
of  Chinese  shoes,  which  I  was  told  were  for  a  grown  woman ;  they  were  so  ex- 
ceedingly disproportioned  to  the  feet  of  one  of  the  same  age  amongst  us,  that 
they  would  scarce  have  been  big  enough  for  one  of  our  little  girls.  Besides 
this,  it  is  observed,  that  their  women  are  also  very  little,  and  short-lived; 
whereas  the  men  are  of  the  ordinary  stature  of  other  men,  and  live  to  a  propor- 
tionable age.  These  defects  in  the  female  sex  of  that  country  are  by  some  im- 
puted to  the  unreasonable  binding  of  their  feet;  whereby  the  free  circulation  of 
the  blood  is  hindered,  and  the  growth  and  health  of  the  whole  body  suffers. 
And  how  often  do  we  see,  that  some  small  part  of  the  foot  being  injured,  by  a 
wrench  or  a  blow,  the  whole  leg  or  thigh  thereby  loses  its  strength  and  nour- 
ishment, and  dwindles  away!  How  much  greater  inconveniences  may  we 
expect,  when  tlie  thorax,  wherein  is  placed  the  heart  and  seat  of  life,  is  unnat- 
urally compressed,  and  hindered  from  its  due  expansion  1 

DIET. 

13.  As  for  his  diet,  it  ought  to  be  very  plain  and  simple;  and  if  I  might  ad- 
vise, flesh  should  be  forborne  as  long  as  he  is  in  coats,  or  at  least,  till  he  is  two 
or  three  years  old.  But  whatever  advantage  this  may  be,  to  his  present  and 
future  health  and  strength,  I  fear  it  will  hardly  be  consented  to,  by  parents, 
misled  by  the  custom  of  eating  too  much  flesh  themselves ;  who  will  be  apt  to 
think  their  children,  as  they  do  themselves,  in  danger  to  be  starved,  if  they 
have  not  flesh,  at  least  twice  a  day.  This  I  am  sure,  children  would  breed 
their  teeth  with  much  less  danger,  be  freer  from  diseases,  whilst  they  were 
little,  and  lay  the  foundations  of  an  healthy  and  strong  constitution  much  surer, 
if  they  were  not  crammed  so  much  as  they  are,  by  fond  mothers  and  foolish 
servants,  and  were  kept  wholly  from  flesh,  the  first  three  or  four  years  of  their 
lives. 

But  if  my  young  master  must  needs  have  flesh,  let  it  be  but  once  a  day,  and 
of  one  sort  at  a  meal.  Plain  beef,  mutton,  veal,  &c.,  without  other  sauce  than 
hunger,  is  best ;  and  great  care  should  be  used,  that  he  eat  bread  plentifully 
both  alone  and  with  every  thing  else.  And  whatever  he  eats,  that  is  solid, 
make  him  chew  it  well.  We  English  are  often  negligent  herein ;  from  whence 
follows  indigestion,  and  other  great  inconveniences. 

14.  For  breakfast  and  supper,  milk,  milk-pottage,  water-gruel,  flummery,  and 
twenty  other  things,  that  we  are  wont  to  make  in  England,  are  very  fit  for  chil- 
dren :  only  in  all  these  let  care  be  taken  that  they  be  plain,  and  without  much 
mixture,  and  very  sparingly  seasoned  with  sugar,  or  rather  none  at  all ;  espec- 
ially allspice,  and  other  things  that  may  heat  the  blood,  are  carefully  to  be 
avoided.  Be  sparing  also  of  salt,  in  the  seasoning  of  all  his  victuals,  and  use 
him  not  to  high-seasoned  meats.     Our  palates  grow  into  a  relish  and  Hking  of 


232  LOCKE  ON   EUliCATION. 

the  seasoning  and  cookery,  wliioh  by  custom  tUey  are  set  to;  and  inover-mucb> 
use  of  salt,  besides  that  it  occasions  tliirst,  and  over-much  drinking,  has  otlier 
ill-eft'ects  upon  tlie  body.  I  sliould  think  that  a  good  piece  of  well-made  and 
well-baked  brown  bread,  sometimes  with,  and  sometimes  without  butter  or 
cheese,  would  be  often  the  best  breakfast  for  my  young  master.  I  am  sure  it  is 
as  wholesome,  and  will  make  him  as  strong  a  man  as  greater  delicacies:  and  if 
he  be  used  to  it,  it  will  be  as  pleasant  to  him.  If  he  at  any  time  calls  for 
victuals  between  meals,  use  him  to  nothing  but  drv  bread.  If  he  be  hungry, 
more  than  wanton,  bread  alone  will  down ;  and  if  he  be  not  hungry,  it  is  not 
lit  he  should  eat.  By  this  you  will  obtain  two  good  effects:  1.  That  bj'  custom 
he  will  come  to  be  in  love  with  bread ;  for,  as  I  said,  our  palates  and  stomachs 
too  are  pleased  with  the  things  we  are  used  to.  Another  good  you  will  gain 
hereby  is,  that  you  will  not  teach  him  to  eat  more  nor  oftener  than  nature  re- 
quires. I  do  not  think  that  all  people's  appetites  are  alike:  some  have  natur- 
ally stronger,  and  some  weaker  stomachs.  But  this  I  think,  that  many  are  made 
gormands  and  gluttons  by  cu.stom,  that  were  not  so  by  nature ;  and  I  see,  in 
some  countries,  men  as  lusty  and  strong,  that  eat  but  two  meals  a  day,  as  others 
that  have  set  their  stomachs  by  a  constant  usage,  like  larums,  to  call  on  them 
.  for  four  or  five.  The  Romans  usually  fasted  till  supper ;  the  only  set  meal, 
even  of  those  who  ate  more  than  once  a  day;  and  those  who  used  breakfasts, 
as  some  did  at  eight,  some  at  ten,  others  at  twelve  of  the  clock,  and  some  later, 
neither  ate  flesh,  nor  liad  any  thing  made  ready  for  them.  Augustus,  when  the- 
greatest  monarch  on  the  earth,  tells  us,  he  took  a  bit  of  dry  bread  in  his  cliariot. 
And  Seneca,  in  his  83d  epistle,  giving  an  account  how  he  managed  himselfj 
even  when  he  was  old,  and  his  age  permitted  indulgence,  says,  that  he  used  t» 
eat  a  piece  of  dry  bread  for  his  dinner,  without  the  formality  of  sitting  to  it : 
though  his  estate  would  have  as  well  paid  for  a  better  meal,  (had  health  required 
it,)  as  any  subjects  in  England,  were  it  doubled.  The  masters  of  the  world 
were  bred  up  with  this  spare  diet;  and  the  young  gentlemen  of  Rome  felt  no 
want  of  strength  or  spirit,  because  they  ate  but  once  a  day.  Or  if  it  happened 
by  cliance,  that  any  one  could  not  fast  so  long  as  till  supper,  their  only  set 
meal ;  he  took  nothing  but  a  bit  of  dry  bread,  or  at  most  a  few  raisins,  or  some 
such  slight  thing  with  it,  to  stay  his  stomach.  This  part  of  temperance  was 
found  so  necessary,  both  for  health  and  business,  that  the  custom  of  only  one 
meal  a  day  held  out  against  that  prevailing  luxury,  which  their  Eastern  con- 
quests and  spoils  had  brought  in  amongst  them ;  and  those,  who  had  given  up 
their  old  frugal  eating,  and  made  feasts,  yet  began  them  not  till  evening.  And 
more  than  one  set  meal  a  day  was  thought  so  monstrous,  that  it  was  a  reproach, 
as  low  down  as  Caesar's  time,  to  make  an  entertainment,  or  sit  down  to  a  full 
table,  till  toward  sunset.  And  therefore,  if  it  would  not  be  thought  too  severe, 
I  should  judge  it  most  convenient,  that  my  j-oung  master  should  have  nothing 
but  bread  too  for  breakfast.  You  can  not  imagine  of  what  force  custom  is;  and 
I  impute  a  great  part  of  our  diseases  in  England  to  our  eating  too  much  flesh, 
and  too  little  bread. 

MEALS. 

15.  As  to  his  meals,  I  sho\ild  think  it  best,  that  as  much  as  it  can  l)e  conven- 
iently avoided,  they  should  not  be  kept  constantly  to  an  hour.  For,  when 
custom  hath  fixed  his  eating  to  certain  stated  periods,  his  stomach  will  expect 
victuals  at  the  usual  liour,  and  grow  peevish  if  Ik,-  pa.sses  it ;  either  fretting  itself 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  233 

into  a  troublesome  excess,  or  flagging  into  a  downrignt  want  of  iippetito. . 
Tuerefore  I  would  have  no  time  kept  constantly  to,  for  his  breakfast,  dinner,, 
and  supper,  but  rather  varied,  almost  every  day.  And  if,  betwixt  these,  which 
I  call  meals,  he  will  eat,  let  him  have,  as  often  as  he  calls  for  it,  good  dry  bread. 
If  any  one  think  this  too  hard  and  sparing  a  diet  lor  a  child,  let  them  know, 
that  a  child  will  never  starve,  nor  dwindle  for  want  of  nourishment,  who,  be- 
sides flesh  at  dinner,  and  spoon-meat,  or  some  such  otlier  thing  at  supper,  may 
have  good  bread  and  beer,  as  often  as  he  has  a  stomach ;  for  thus,  upon  second 
thoughts,  I  should  judge  it  best  for  children  to  be  ordered.  The  morning  is 
generally  designed  for  study,  to  which  a  full  stomach  is  but  an  ill  preparation. 
Dry  bread,  thougli  the  best  nourisluuent,  has  the  least  temptation ;  and  nobody 
would  have  a  child  crammed  at  breakfast,  who  has  any  regard  to  his  mind  or 
body,  and  would  not  have  him  dull  and  unhealthy.  Nor  let  any  one  think  this 
unsuitable  to  one  of  estate  and  condition.  A  gentleman,  in  any  age,  ought  to 
be  so  bred,  as  to  be  fitted  to  bear  arms,  and  be  a  soldier.  But  he  that  in  this, 
breeds  his  son  so,  as  if  he  designed  him  to  sleep  over  his  life,  in  the  plenty  and 
ease  of  a  full  fortune  he  intends  to  leave  him,  little  considers  the  examples  he 
has  seen,  cr  the  age  he  lives  in. 

DRINK. 

16.  His  drink  should  be  only  small  beer:  and  that  too  he  should  never  l)e 
suffered  to  have  between  meals,  but  after  he  had  eat  a  piece  of  bread.  The 
reasons  why  I  say  this  are  these : 

17.  1.  More  fevers  and  surfeits  are  got  by  people's  drinking  when  they  :ire 
hot,  than  by  any  one  tiling  I  know.  Therefore,  if  by  ])lay  he  be  hot  antl  dry, 
bread  will  ill  go  down  ;  and  so,  if  lie  can  not  have  drink,  but  upon  that  condi- 
tion, he  will  be  forced  to  forbear.  For,  if  he  be  very  hot,  he  should  by  no 
means  drink.  At  least,  a  good  piece  of  bread,  first  to  be  eaten,  will  gain  time 
to  warm  the  beer  blood-hot,  which  then  he  may  drink  safely.  If  he  be  very 
dry,  it  will  go  down  so  warmed,  and  quench  his  thirst  better;  and,  if  he  wilL 
not  drink  it  so  warmed,  abstaining  will  not  hurt  him.  Besides,  this  will  teach 
him  to  forbear,  which  is  an  habit  of  greatest  use  for  health  of  body  and  mind 
too. 

18.  2.  Not  being  permitted  to  drink  without  eating,  will  prevent  the  custom 
of  having  the  cup  often  at  his  nose ;  a  dangerous  beginning  and  preparation  to 
good  fellowship.  Men  often  bring  habitual  hunger  and  tliirst  on  themselves  by 
custom.  And,  if  you  please  to  try,  you  may,  though  he  be  weaned  from  it, 
bring  him  by  use  to  such  a  necessity  of  drinking  in  the  night,  that  he  will  not 
be  able  to  sleep  without  it.  It  being  the  lullaby,  u.sed  by  nurses,  to  still  crying 
children  ;  I  Ijelieve  mothers  generally  find  some  difficulty  to  wean  their  children 
from  drinking  in  the  night,  when  they  first  take  them  home.  Believe  it,  cus- 
tom prevails  as  much  by  day  as  by  night ;  and  you  may,  if  you  please,  bring 
any  one  to  be  thirsty  every  hour. 

I  once  lived  in  a  house,  where,  to  appease  a  froward  child,  (hey  gave  him 
drink  as  often  as  he  cried ;  so  that  he  was  constantly  bibbing :  and  though  he 
could  not  speak,  yet  he  drank  more  in  twenty-four  hours  than  I  did.  Try  it 
when  you  please,  you  may  with  small,  as  well  as  with  strong  beer,  drink  ynnv- 
self  into  a  drought.  The  great  thing  to  be  minded  in  education  is.  whiit  liabits 
you  settle:  and  therefore  in  this,  as  all  other  things,  do  not  begin  to  make  any 
thing  customary,  tlic  practice  whereof  you  would   not  liave  cinitinui'  :ind   in- 


234  lo(;ke  on  education 

crease.  It  is  convenient  for  health  and  sobriety,  to  drink  no  more  tlian  natura 
thirst  requires ;  and  he  that  eats  not  salt  meats,  nor  drinks  strong  drink,  wili 
seldom  thirst  between  meals,  unless  he  has  been  accustomed  to  such  unseason- 
able drinking. 

19.  Above  all,  take  great  care  that  he  seldom,  if  ever,  taste  any  wine,  or 
strong  drink.  There  is  nothing  so  ordinarih-  given  children  in  England,  and 
nothing  so  destructive  to  them.  Thej''  ought  never  to  drink  any  strong  liquor, 
but  when  they  need  it  as  a  cordial,  and  the  doctor  prescribes  it.  And  in  this 
•case  it  is,  that  servants  are  most  narrowly  to  be  watcned,  and  most  severely'  to 
be  reprehended,  when  they  transgress.  Those  mean  sort  of  people,  placing  a 
great  part  of  their  happiness  in  strong  drink,  are  always  forward  to  make  court 
to  my  young  master,  by  offering  liira  that  which  the.y  love  best  themselves ; 
and,  finding  themselves  made  merry  by  it,  they  foolishly  think  it  will  do  the 
child  no  harm.  This  you  are  carefully  to  have  your  eye  upon,  and  restrain 
with  all  the  skill  and  industry  you  can :  there  being  nothing  that  lays  a  surer 
foundation  of  mischiefj  both  to  body  and  mind,  than  children's  being  used  to 
strong  drink ;  especially  to  drink  in  private  with  the  servants. 


20.  Fruit  makes  one  of  the  most  diflScult  chapters  in  the  government  of 
health,  especially  that  of  children.  Our  first  parents  ventured  paradise  for  it; 
and  it  is  no  wonder  our  children  can  not  stand  the  temptation,  though  it  cost 
them  their  health.  The  regulation  of  this  can  not  come  under  any  one  general 
rule ;  for  I  am  by  no  means  of  their  mind,  would  keep  children  almost  wholly 
from  fruit,  as  a  thing  totally  unwholesome  for  them ;  by  which  strict  way  they 
make  them  but  the  more  ravenous  after  it ;  and  to  eat  good  and  bad,  ripe  or 
unripe,  all  that  they  can  get,  whenever  they  come  at  it.  Melons,  peaches,  most 
sorts  of  plums,  and  all  sorts  of  grapes  in  England,  I  think  children  should  be 
wholly  kept  from,  as  having  a  very  tempting  taste,  in  a  very  unwholesome 
juice ;  so  that,  if  it  were  possible,  they  should  never  so  much  as  see  them,  or 
know  there  were  any  such  thing.  But  strawberries,  cherries,  gooseberries,  or 
•  currants,  when  thorough  ripe,  I  think  may  be  very  safely  allowed  them,  and 
that  with  a  pretty  liberal  hand,  if  they  be  eaten  with  these  cautions.  1.  Not 
afler  meals,  as  we  usually  do,  when  the  stomach  is  already  full  of  other  food. 
But  I  think  they  should  be  eaten  rather  before,  or  between  meals,  and  children 
should  have  them  for  their  breakfasts.  2.  Bread  eaten  with  them.  3.  Per- 
fectly ripe.  If  they  are  thus  eaten,  I  imagine  them  rather  conducing  than 
hurtful  to  our  health.  Summer  fruits,  being  suitable  to  the  hot  season  of  the 
year  they  come  in,  refresh  our  stomachs,  languishing  and  fainting  under  it ;  and 
therefore  I  should  not  be  altogether  so  strict  in  this  point,  as  some  are  to  their 
children ;  who  being  kept  so  very  short,  instead  of  a  moderate  quantity  of  well- 
chosen  fruit,  which  being  allowed  them  would  content  them,  whenever  they 
can  get  loose,  or  bribe  a  servant  to  supply  them,  satisfy  tlieir  longing  with  any 
trash  they  can  get,  and  eat  to  a  surfeit. 

Apples  and  pears  too,  which  are  thorough  ripe,  and  have  been  gathered  some 
time,  I  think  may  be  safely  eaten  at  anj'  time,  and  in  pretty  large  quantities; 
especially  apples,  which  never  did  any  body  hurt,  that  I  have  heard,  after 
'October. 

Fruits  also  dried  without  sugar  I  think  very  wholesome.  But  sweetmeats  of 
all  kinds  are  to  be  avoided ;  which,  whctlier  Ihev  do  more  harm  to  the  maker 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  235 

or  eater,  ip  not  easy  to  tell.  This  I  am  sure,  it  is  one  of  the  most  inconvenient 
ways  of  expense  that  vanity  hath  yet  found  out :  and  so  I  leave  them  to  the 
ladies. 

SLEEP. 

-1.  Uf  all  that  looks  soft  and  eftemiuate,  nothin.s;  is  more  to  be  indulged  chil- 
dren tlian  sleep.  In  this  alone"  they  are  to  be  permitted  to  have  their  full  satis- 
facti(jn ;  notliing  eontril)uting  more  to  the  growth  and  health  of  children  than 
sleep.  All  that  is  to  be  regulated  in  it  is,  in  what  part  of  the  twenty-four  houra 
they  should  take  it;  which  will  easily  be  resolved,  In-  only  saying,  that  it  is  of 
great  use  to  accustom  them  to  rise  early  in  tlie  morning.  It  is  best  so  to  do, 
for  health ;  and  he  that,  from  his  childhood,  has  by  a  settled  custom  made  rising 
betimes  easy  and  familiar  to  him.  will  not.  when  he  is  a  man,  waste  the  best 
and  most  useful  part  of  his  life  in  drowsiness  and  lying  a-bed.  If  children 
therefore  are  to  be  called  up  early  in  tiie  morning,  it  will  follow  of  course  that 
tliey  must  go  to  bed  betimes;  whereby  they  will  be  accustomed  to  avoid  the 
unhealthy  and  unsafe  hours  of  debauchery,  which  are  those  of  the  evenings ; 
and  thej-  who  keep  good  hours  .seldom  are  guilty  of  any  great  disorders.  I  do 
not  say  this,  as  if  your  son,  when  grown  up,  should  never  be  in  company  past 
eight,  uor  never  chat  over  a  glass  of  wiue  till  midnight.  You  are  now,  by  the 
accustoming  of  his  tender  years,  to  indispose  him  to  those  inconveniences  as 
much  as  you  can ;  and  it  will  be  no  small  advantage,  that  contrary  practice  hav- 
ing made  sitting-up  uneasy  to  him.  it  will  make  him  often  avoid,  and  very  sel- 
dom proi)Ose  midnight  revels.  But  if  it  should  not  reach  so  far,  but  fashion  and 
company  should  prevail,  and  make  him  live  as  others  do  above  twentj*,  it  is 
wortli  t'.ie  while  to  accustom  him  to  early  rising  and  early  going  to  bed,  between 
this  and  that,  for  the  present  improvement  of  his  health,  and  other  advantages. 

Though  I  have  said  a  large  allowance  of  sleep,  even  as  much  as  they  will 
take,  should  be  made  to  children  when  they  are  little ;  yet  I  do  not  mean,  that 
it  should  always  be  continued  to  them,  in  so  large  a  proportion,  and  they  suf- 
fered to  indulge  a  drowsj^  laziness  in  their  beds,  as  they  grow  up  bigger.  But 
whether  they  .should  begin  to  be  restrained  at  seven,  or  ten  j-ears  old,  or  any 
other  time,  is  impossible  to  be  precisely  determined.  Their  tempers,  strength, 
and  constitutions  must  be  considered :  but  some  time  between  seven  and  four- 
teen, if  they  are  too  great  lovers  of  their  beds,  I  think  it  may  be  seasonable  to 
begin  to  reduce  them,  by  degrees,  to  about  eight  hours,  which  is  generally  rest 
enough  Ibr  healthy  grown  people.  If  you  have  accustomed  him,  as  you  should 
do,  to  rise  constantly  very  early  in  the  morning,  this  fault  of  being  too  long  in 
bed  will  easily  be  reformed;  and  most  children  will  be  forward  enough  to 
shorten  that  time  themselves,  by  coveting  to  sit  up  with  the  companj^  at  night : 
though,  if  they  be  not  looked  after,  they  will  be  apt  to  take  it  out  in  the  morn- 
ing, which  should  by  no  means  be  permitted.  They  should  constantly  be  called 
up,  and  made  to  rise  at  their  early  hour ;  but  great  care  should  be  taken  in 
waking  them,  that  it  be  not  done  hastily,  nor  with  aloud  or  shrUl  voice,  or  any 
other  sudden  violent  noise.  This  often  affrights  children  and  does  them  great 
harm.  And  sound  sleep,  thus  broke  oft'  with  sudden  alarms,  is  apt  enough  to 
discompose  any  one.  When  children  are  to  be  wakened  out  of  their  sleep,  be 
sure  to  begin  with  a  low  call,  and  some  gentle  motion ;  and  so  draw  them  out  of 
it  by  degrees,  and  give  them  none  but  kind  words  and  usage,  till  they  are  come 
perfectly  to  themselves,  and  being  quite  dressed  you  are  sure  they  are  thor- 
oughly awake.     The  being  forced  from  their  .sleep,  how  gently  soever  .you  do 


236  i.ocKi:  ON  education. 

it,  is  pain  enough  to  them  :  and  care  sliould  be  taken  not  to  add  any  other  un- 
easiness to  it,  especially  such. as  may  terrify  them. 

BED. 

22.  Let  his  bed  be  hard,  and  rather  quilts  than  feathers.  Hard  lodgings- 
strengthens  the  parts ;  whereas  being  buried  every  night  in  feathers,  melts  and 
dissolves  the  bod}',  is  often  the  cause  of  weakness,  and  the  forerunner  of  an. 
early  grave.  And,  besides  the  stone,  which  has  often  its  rise  from  this  warm 
wnipi)ing  of  the  reins,  several  other  indispositions,  and  that  which  is  the  root 
of  them  all,  a  tender,  weakly  constitution,  is  very  much  owing  to  down  beds. 
Besides,  he  that  is  used  to  hard  lodging  at  home,  will  not  miss  his  sleep,  (where 
he  has  most  need  of  it,)  in  his  travels  abroad,  for  want  of  his  soft  bed  and  liis 
pillows  laid  in  order.  And  therefore  I  think  it  would  not  be  amiss,  to  make  his 
bed  after  different  fashions;  sometimes  lay  jiis  head  higher,  sometimes  lower, 
that  he  may  not  feel  every  little  change  he  must  be  sure  to  meet  with,  who  is 
not  designed  to  lie  always  in  my  young  master's  bed  at  home,  and  to  have  his 
maid  la}'  all  things  in  print,  and  tuck  him  in  warm.  Tlie  great  cordial  of  na- 
ture is  sleep.  He  that  misses  that,  will  suffer  by  it :  and  he  is  very  unfortunate, 
who  can  take  his  cordial  only  in  his  mother's  tine  gilt  cup,  and  not  in  a  wooden 
dish.  He  that  can  sleep  soundly,  takes  the  cordial;  and  it  matters  not  whether 
it  be  on  a  soft  bed,  or  the  hard  boards.  It  is  sleep  only  that  is  the  thing 
necessary. 

PHYSIC. 

23.  Perhaps  it  will  be  expected  from  me,  that  I  should  give  some  directions 
of  physic,  to  prevent  diseases ;  for  which  1  have  only  this  one,  very  sacredly  to  • 
be  observed :  never  to  give  children  any  physic  for  prevention.  The  observa- 
tion of  what  I  have  already  advised,  will,  I  suppose,  do  that  better  than  the 
ladies'  diet-drinks,  or  apothecary's  medicines.  Have  a  great  care  of  tampering 
that  way,  lest,  in.stead  of  preventing,  you  draw  on  diseases.  Nor  even  upon 
every  little  indisposition  is  physic  to  be  given,  or  the  physician  to  be  called  to 
children;  especially  if  he  be  a  busy  man,  that  will  presently  fill  their  windows 
with  gally-pots,  and  their  stomachs  with  drugs.  It  is  safer  to  leave  them 
wholly  to  nature,  than  to  put  them  into  the  hands  of  one  forward  to  tampiT.  or 
that  thinks  children  are  to  be  cured  in  ordinary  distempers  by  any  thing  but 
diet,  or  by  a  method  very  little  distant  from  it :  it  seeming  suitable  both  to  my 
reason  and  experience,  that  the  tender  constitutions  of  children  should  have  as 
little  done  to  them  as  is  possible,  and  as  the  absolute  necessity  of  the  ca.^e  re- 
quires. A  little  cold  stilled  red  poppy- water,  which  is  the  true  surfeit- water, 
with  ease,  and  abstinence  from  flesh,  often  puts  an  end  to  several  distempers  in 
the  beginning,  which,  by  too  forward  applications,  might  have  been  made  lu.sty 
diseases.  When  such  a  gentle  treatment  will  not  stop  the  growing  mischief, 
nor  hinder  it  from  turning  into  a  formed  disease,  it  will  be  time  to  seek  the  ad- 
vice of  some  sober  and  discreet  physician.  I  this  part,  I  hope,  I  shall  find  an 
easy  belief;  and  nobody  can  have  a  pretence  to  doubt  the  advice  of  one,  who 
has  spent  some  time  in  the  study  of  physic,  when  he  counsels  you  not  to  be  too 
forward  in  making  use  of  physic  and  physicians. 

24.  And  thus  I  have  done  with  what  concerns  the  body  and  health,  wmch 
reduces  itself  to  these  few  and  easily  ob.servable  rules.  Plenty  of  open  air.  ex- 
ercise, and  sleep;  plain  diet,  no  wine  or  strong  drink,  and  very  little  or  no 
physic;  not  too  warm  and  strait  clothing;  especially  the  head  and  feet  kept 
cold,  and  tlie  feet  often  used  to  cold  w.'iter  and  exposed  to  wet. 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  237 

MORAL   CULTURE. 

25.  Due  care  being  had  to  keep  the  body  in  strengtli  and  vigor,  so  that  it 
may  be  able  to  obey  and  execute  the  orders  of  tlie  mind ;  tlie  next  and  princi- 
pal business  is,  to  set  the  mind  right,  that  on  all  occasions  it  may  be  disposed  to 
-consent  to  nothing  but  what  may  be  suitable  to  the  dignity  and  excellency  of  a 
rational  creature. 

21).  If  what  I  have  said  in  the  beginning  of  this  discourse  be  true,  as  I  do  not 
doubt  but  it  is,  viz.,  that  the  difference  to  be  found  in  the  manners  and  abilities 
of  men  is  owing  more  to  their  education  than  to  an)'  thing  else  ;  we  have  rea- 
son to  conclude,  that  great  care  is  to  be  had  of  the  forming  of  children's  minds, 
and  glN'ing  them  that  seasoning  early,  which  shall  influence  their  lives  always 
after.  For  when  they  do  well  or  ill,  the  praise  or  blame  will  be  laid  there  ;  and 
when  any  thing  is  done  awicwardly,  the  common  saying  will  pass  upon  them, 
that  it  is  suitable  to  their  breeding. 

27.  As  the  strength  of  the  body  lies  chiefly  in  being  able  to  endure  hardships, 
so  also  does  that  of  the  mind.  And  the  great  principle  and  foundation  of  all 
virtue  and  worth  is  placed  in  tliis,  that  a  man  is  able  to  deny  himself  his  own 
■desires,  cross  his  own  inclinations,  and  purely  follow  what  reason  directs  as 
best,  the  ugh  the  appetite  lean  the  other  way. 

EARLY    IXFLUEN'CE. 

28.  The  great  mistake  I  have  observed  in  people's  breeding  their  children  has 
been,  that  this  has  not  been  taken  care  enougii  of  in  its  due  season ;  that  the 
mind  has  not  been  made  obedient  to  discipline,  and  pliant  to  reason,  when  at 
first  it  was  most  tender,  most  easy  to  be  bowed.  Parents  being  wisely  ordained 
by  nature  to  love  their  children,  are  very  .apt,  if  reason  watch  not  that  natural 
aftectiun  very  warily ;  are  apt,  I  say,  to  let  it  run  into  fondness.  They  love 
their  little  ones,  and  it  is  their  duty ;  but  they  often  with  them  cherish  their 
faults  too.  They  must  not  be  crossed,  forsooth ;  they  must  be  permitted  to 
have  their  wills  in  all  things ;  and  they  being  in  their  infancies  not  capable  of 
great  vices,  their  parents  think  they  may  safely  enough  indulge  their  little  irreg- 
ularities, and  make  themselves  sport  with  that  pretty  perverseness,  which  they 
think  well  enough  becomes  that  innocent  age.  But  to  a  fond  parent,  that 
would  not  have  his  child  corrected  for  a  perverse  trick,  but  excused  it,  saying 
it  wa»  -x  small  matter ;  Solon  very  well  replied,  "  Ay,  but  custom  is  a  great 
one." 

29.  The  fondling  must  be  taught  to  strike  and  call  names ;  must  have  what 
he  cries  for,  and  do  what  he  pleases.  Thus  parents,  by  humoring  and  cocker- 
ing them  when  little,  corrupt  the  principles  of  nature  in  their  children,  and 
Avonder  afterwards  to  taste  the  bitter  waters,  when  they  themselves  have  pois- 
oned the  fountain.  For  when  their  children  are  grown  up,  and  these  ill  habits 
with  tliem ;  when  they  are  now  too  big  to  be  dandled,  and  their  parents  can  no 
longer  make  use  of  them  as  play-things ;  then  they  complain  that  the  brats  are 
untoward  and  perverse ;  then  they  are  offended  to  see  them  wilful,  and  are 
troubled  with  those  ill  humors,  which  they  themselves  infused  and  fomented  in 
them ;  and  then,  perhaps  too  late,  would  be  glad  to  get  out  those  weeds  which 
their  own  hands  have  planted,  and  which  now  have  taken  too  deep  root  to  bo 
easily  extirpated.  For  he  that  has  been  used  to  have  his  will  in  every  thing, 
as  long  as  lie  was  in  coats,  wliy  should  we   think   it  strange  that   he  should 


238  I.OCKIC  ON   i:i)l  '-ATION. 

desire  it  and  contend  for  ii  still,  when  he  is  in  breeelies?  Indeed,  as  li3  grows 
more  towards  a  man,  age  shows  his  faults  tl\e  more,  so  that  there  be  few  parents 
then  so  blind  as  not  to  see  them  ;  few  so  insensible  as  not  to  feel  the  ill  eft'ects 
of  their  own  indulgence.  He  had  the  will  of  his  maid  before  he  could  speak  or 
go;  he  had  the  mastery  of  his  parents  ever  since  he  could  prattle;  and  why, 
now  he  is  grown  up,  is  stronger  and  wiser  than  he  w-as  then,  why  now  of  a 
sudden  must  he  be  restrained  and  curbed ;  whj'  mus<;  he  at  seven,  fourteen,  or 
twenty  years  old,  lose  the  privilege  which  the  parents'  indulgence,  till  then,  so 
largely  allowed  iiim  ?  Try  it  in  a  dog,  or  a  horse,  or  any  other  creature,  and 
see  wlietiier  the  ill  and  resty  tricks  they  have  learned  when  young  are  easily  to- 
be  mended  when  the3'  are  knit:  and  yet  none  of  those  creatures  are  half  so 
willful  and  proud,  or  half  so  desirous  to  be  masters  of  themselves  and  others, 
as  man. 

30.  We  are  generally  wise  enough  to  begin  with  them  when  they  are  very 
young;  and  discipline  betimes  those  other  creatures  we  would  make  useful  and 
good  for  somewhat.  They  are  only  our  own  offspring,  that  we  neglect  in  this 
point ;  and,  having  made  them  ill  children,  we  foolishly  expect  they  should  be 
good  men.  For  if  the  child  must  have  grapes,  or  sugar-plums,  when  he  has  a 
mind  to  them,  rather  than  make  the  poor  baby  cry,  or  be  out  of  humor;  why, 
when  he  is  grown  up,  must  he  not  be  satisfied  too,  if  his  desires  carry  hira  to 
wine  or  women  ?  They  are  objects  as  suitable  to  the  longing  of  twentj--one 
or  more  years,  as  what  he  cried  for,  when  little,  was  to  the  inclinations  of  a 
child.  The  having  desires  accommodated  to  the  apprehensions  and  relish  of 
those  several  ages  is  not  the  fault ;  but  the  not  having  them  subject  to  the  rules 
and  restraints  of  reason :  the  difference  lies  not  in  the  having  or  not  having 
appetites,  but  in  the  power  to  govern,  and  deny  ourselves  in  them.  He  that  is 
not  used  to  submit  his  will  to  the  reason  of  others,  when  he  is  young,  will 
scarce  hearken  or  submit  to  his  own  reason,  when  he  is  of  an  age  to  make  use 
of  it.     And  what  kind  of  a  man  such  a  one  is  like  to  prove,  is  easj'  to  foresee. 

31.  These  are  oversights  usually  committed  by  those  who  seem  to  take  the 
greatest  care  of  their  children's  education.  But,  if  we  look  into  the  common 
management  of  children,  we  shall  have  reason  to  wonder,  in  the  great  dissolute- 
ness of  manners  which  the  world  complains  of,  that  there  are  any  footsteps  at 
all  left  to  virtue.  I  desire  to  know  what  vice  can  be  named,  which  parents,  and 
those  about  children,  do  not  season  them  with,  and  drop  into  them  the  seeds  of| 
as  often  as  they  are  capable  to  receive  them  ?  I  do  not  mean  hy  the  examples 
they  give,  and  the  patterns  they  set  before  them,  which  is  encouragement 
enough  ;  but  that  which  I  would  take  notice  of  here,  is  the  downright  teaching 
them  vice,  and  actual  putting  them  out  of  the  way  of  virtue.  Before  they  can 
go,  they  principle  them  with  violence,  revenge  and  cruelty.  "  Give  me  a  blow 
that  I  may  beat  him,"  is  a  lesson  which  most  children  every  day  hear:  and  it  is 
thought  noihing,  because  their  hands  have  not  strength  enough  to  do  any  mis- 
chief But.  I  ask,  does  not  this  corrupt  their  minds?  is  not  this  the  way  of 
force  and  violence,  that  they  are  set  in?  and  if  they  have  been  taught  when 
little  to  strike  and  hurt  others  by  proxy,  and  encouraged  to  rejoice  in  the  harm 
they  have  brought  upon  tliem,  and  see  them  suffer;  are  they  not  prepared  to 
do  it  when  they  arc  strong  enough  to  be  felt  tla  niselves.  and  can  strike  to  some 
purpcse? 

Tlio  cfivi-riiiii'S  of  our  Ijodies,  which  :ue  fur  inodestv,  warmth,  and  defense,  are 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  233 

by  the  folly  or  vice  of  parents,  recommended  to  their  children  for  other  uses. 
They  are  made  matter  of  vanity  and  emulation.  A  child  is  set  a  longing  aftei 
a  new  suit,  for  the  finery  of  it:  and  when  the  little  girl  is  tricked  up  in  her  new 
gown  and  commode,  how  can  her  mother  do  less  than  teach  her  to  admire  her- 
self, bj' calling  her,  "her  little  queen,"  and  "her  princess?"  Thus  the  little 
ones  are  taught  to  be  proud  of  their  clothes  before  they  can  put  them  on.  And 
why  should  they  not  continue  to  value  themselves  for  this  outside  fashionable- 
ness  of  the  tailor  or  the  tire-woman's  making,  when  their  parents  have  so  early 
instructed  them  to  do  so  ? 

Lying  and  equivocations,  and  excuses  little  difl'erent  from  lying,  are  put  into 
the  mouths  of  young  people,  and  commended  in  apprentices  and  children,  whilst 
they  are  for  their  master's  or  parent's  advantage.  And  can  it  be  thought  that 
he,  that  finds  the  straining  of  truth  dispensed  with,  and  encouraged,  whilst  it  is 
for  his  godly  master's  turn,  will  not  make  use  of  that  privilege  for  himself. 
when  it  may  be  for  his  own  profit  ? 

Those  of  the  meaner  sort  are  hindered  by  the  straitness  of  their  fortunes  from 
encouraging  intemperance  in  their  children,  by  the  temptation  of  their  diet,  or 
invitations  to  eat  or  drink  more  than  enough:  but  their  own  ill  examples, 
whenever  plentj'-  comes  in  their  way,  show  that  it  is  not  the  dislike  of  drunken- 
ness and  gluttony  that  keeps  them  from  excess,  but  want  of  materials.  But 
if  we  look  into  the  houses  of  those  who  are  a  little  warmer  in  their  fortunes, 
there  eating  and  drinking  are  made  so  much  the  great  business  and  happiness 
of  life,  that  children  are  thought  neglected,  if  they  have  not  their  share  of  it. 
Sauces,  and  ragouts,  and  foods  disguised  bj''  all  the  arts  of  cookery,  must  tempt 
their  palates,  when  their  bellies  are  full ;  and  then,  for  fear  the  stomach  should 
be  overcharged,  a  pretense  is  found  for  the  other  glass  of  wine,  to  help  digestion, 
though  it  only  serves  to  increase  the  surfeit. 

Is  my  young  master  a  little  out  of  order  ?  the  first  question  is,  "  What  will 
my  dear  eat  ?  what  shall  I  get  for  thee  ?"  Eating  and  drinking  are  instantly 
pressed:  and  every  body's  invention  is  set  on  work  to  find  out  something 
luscious  and  delicate  enough  to  prevail  over  that  want  of  appetite,  which  nature 
has  wisely  ordered  in  the  beginning  of  distempers,  as  a  defense  against  their 
increase ;  that,  being  freed  from  the  ordinary  labor  of  digesting  any  new  load 
in  the  stomach,  she  may  be  at  leisure  to  correct  and  master  the  peccant  humors. 

And  where  children  are  so  happy  in  the  care  of  their  parents,  as  by  their 
prudence  to  be  kept  from  the  excess  of  their  tables,  to  the  sobriety  of  a  plain 
and  simple  diet ;  yet  there  too  they  are  scarce  to  be  preserved  from  the  con- 
tagion that  poisons  the  mind.  Though  by  a  discreet  management,  whilst  they 
are  under  tuition,  their  healths,  perhaps,  may  be  prettj'^  well  secured ;  yet  their 
desires  must  needs  yield  to  the  lessons,  which  every-where  will  be  read  to  them 
upon  this  part  of  epicurism.  The  commendation  that  eating  well  has  every- 
where, can  not  fiiil  to  be  a  successful  incentive  to  natural  appetite,  and  bring 
them  quickly  to  the  liking  and  expense  of  a  fasliionable  table.  This  shall  have 
from  every  one,  even  the  reprovers  of  vice,  the  title  of  living  well.  And  what 
shall  sullen  reason  dare  to  say  against  the  public  testimony?  or  can  it  hope  to 
be  heard,  if  it  should  call  that  luxury,  which  is  so  much  owned  and  univensally 
practised  by  those  of  the  best  quality  ? 

ThLs  is  now  so  grown  a  vice,  and  has  so  great  supports,  that  I  know  not 
whether  it  do  not  put  in  for  tlie  name  of  virtue ;  and  whether  it  will  not  be 


240  LOCKK  ON  KDUCATION. 

^tliought  lolly,  or  want  of  knowledge  of  the  world,  to  open  one's  mouth  against 
it.  And  truly  I  sliould  suspect,  tliat  what  1  have  here  said  of  it  might  be  cen- 
sured, as  a  little  satire  out  of  my  way,  did  I  not  mention  it  with  this  view,  tiiat 
it  might  awaken  the  care  and  watchfulness  of  parents  in  the  education  of  their 
<'hildien ;  when  they  see  how  they  are  beset  on  every  side,  not  only  with  tempta- 
tion.-;, but  instructors  to  vice,  and  that  perhaps  in  those  they  thought  places  of 
sfcurity. 

I  shall  not  dwell  aiiy  lunger  on  this  subject;  much  less  run  over  all  tlie 
particulars,  that  would  show  what  pains  are  used  to  corrupt  children,  and  instill 
principles  of  vice  into  them :  but  I  desire  parents  soberly  to  consider  what 
irregularity  or  vice  there  is  which  children  are  not  visibly  taught;  and  whether 
it  be  not  their  duty  and  wisdom  to  provide  them  other  instructions. 


32.  It  seems  plain  to  me,  that  the  principle  of  all  virtue  and  excellency  lies 
in  a  power  of  denying  ourselves  the  satisfaction  of  our  own  desires,  where  rea- 
son does  not  authorize  them.  This  power  is  to  be  got  and  improved  by  custom, 
made  easy  and  familiar  by  an  early  practice.  If  therefore  I  might  be  heard,  I 
would  advise,  that,  contrary  to  the  ordinary  way  children  should  be  used  to 
submit  their  desires,  and  go  without  their  longings,  even  from  their  very  cradles. 
The  very  first  thing  they  should  learn  to  know,  should  be,  that  they  were  not 
to  have  any  thing  because  it  pleased  them,  but  because  it  was  thought  fit  for 
them.  If  things  suitable  to  their  wants  were  supplied  to  them  so  that  they 
were  never  suffered  to  have  what  they  once  cried  for,  they  would  learn  to  be 
content  without  it;  would  never  with  bawling  and  peevishness  contend  for 
mastery ;  nor  be  half  so  uneasy  to  themselves  and  others  as  they  are,  because 
from  the  first  beginning  they  are  not  thus  handled.  If  they  were  never  suffered 
to  obtain  their  desire  by  the  impatience  they  expressed  for  it,  they  would  no 
more  cry  for  other  things  than  they  do  for  the  moon. 

33.  I  say  not  this  as  if  children  were  not  to  be  indulged  in  any  thing,  or  that 
I  expected  they  should,  in  hanging-sleeves,  have  the  reason  and  conduct  of 
•counsellors.  I  consider  them  as  children,  who  must  be  tenderly  used,  who 
must  play,  and  have  play-things.  That  which  I  mean  is,  that  whenever  they 
■craved  what  was  not  fit  for  them  to  have,  or  do,  they  should  not  be  permitted 
it,  because  they  were  little  and  desired  it :  nay,  whatever  they  were  importunate 
for,  they  should  be  sure,  for  that  very  reason,  to  be  denied.  I  have  seen  chil- 
dren at  a  table,  who,  whatever  was  there,  never  asked  for  any  thing,  but  con- 
tentedlj'  took  what  was  given  them :  and  at  another  place  I  have  seen  others  cry 
for  every  thing  they  saw,  must  be  served  out  of  every  dish,  and  that  first  too. 
What  made  this  vast  difference  but  this,  that  one  was  accustomed  to  have  what 
they  called  or  cried  for,  the  other  to  go  without  it?  The  younger  they  are,  the 
less,  I  think,  are  their  unruly  and  disorderly  appetites  to  be  complied  with  ;  and 
the  less  reason  they  have  of  their  own,  the  more  are  they  to  be  under  the  abso- 
lute power  and  restraint  of  those  in  whose  hands  they  are.  From  which  I  con- 
fess, it  will  follow,  that  none  but  discreet  people  should  be  about  them.  If  the 
world  commonly  does  otherwise,  I  can  not  help  that.  I  am  saying  what  1 
think  should  be;  which,  if  it  were  already  in  fashion,  I  should  not  need  to 
trouble  the  world  with  a  discourse  on  this  subject.  But  yet  I  doubt  not  but, 
when  it  is  considered,  there  will  be  others  of  opinion  with  me,  that  the  sooner 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  24l 

this  way  is  begun  with  children,  the  easier  it  will  be  for  them,  and  their  gov- 
ernors too ;  and  that  this  ought  to  be  observed  as  an  inviolable  maxim,  that 
whatever  once  is  denied  them,  they  are  certainly  not  to  obtain  by  crying  or  im- 
portunity; unless  one  has  a  mind  to  teach  them  to  be  impatient  and  trouble- 
some, by  rewarding  them  for  it  when  they  are  so. 

EARLY  REGULATION. 

34.  Those,  therefore,  that  intend  ever  to  govern  their  children,  should  begin 
it  whilst  they  are  very  little,  and  look  that  they  perfectly  comply  with  the  will 
of  their  parents.  Would  you  have  your  son  obedient  to  you  when  past  a  child  ? 
Be  sure  then  to  establish  the  authority  of  a  father,  as  soon  as  he  is  capable  of 
submission,  and  can  understand  in  whose  power  he  is.  If  you  would  have  him 
stand  in  awe  of  you,  imprint  it  in  his  infancy ;  and,  as  he  approaches  more  to  a 
man,  admit  him  nearer  to  your  familiarity ;  so  shall  you  have  him  your  obe- 
■dient  subject  (as  is  fit)  whilst  he  is  a  child,  and  your  affectionate  friend  when  he 
is  a  man.  For  methinks  they  mightily  misplace  the  treatment  due  to  their 
children,  who  are  indulgent  and  familiar  when  they  are  little,  but  severe  to  them 
and  keep  them  at  a  distance,  when  they  are  grown  up.  For  liberty  and  indul- 
gence can  do  no  good  to  children ;  their  want  of  judgment  makes  them  stand 
in  need  of  restraint  and  discipline.  And,  01  the  contrary,  imperiousness  and 
severity  is  but  an  ill  way  of  treating  men,  who  have  reason  of  their  own  to 
guide  them,  unless  you  have  a  mind  to  make  your  children,  when  grown  up, 
weary  of  you,  and  secretly  to  say  within  themselves,  "When  will  you  die, 
father?" 

35.  I  imagine  every  one  will  judge  it  reasonable,  that  their  children,  when 
little,  should  look  upon  their  parents  as  their  lords,  their  absolute  governors ; 
and  as  such  stand  in  awe  of  them,  and  that  when  they  come  to  riper  years, 
they  should  look  on  them  as  their  best,  as  their  only  sure  friends,  and  as  such 
love  and  reverence  them.  The  way  I  have  mentioned,  if  I  mistake  not,  is  the 
only  one  to  obtain  this.  We  must  look  upon  our  children,  when  grown  up,  to 
be  like  ourselves ;  with  the  same  passions,  the  same  desires.  We  would  be 
thought  rational  creatures,  and  have  our  freedom ;  we  love  not  to  be  uneasy 
under  constant  rebukes  and  brow-beatings ;  nor  can  we  bear  severe  humors  and 
great  distance  in  those  we  converse  with.  Whoever  has  such  treatment,  when 
he  is  a  man,  will  look  out  other  company,  other  friends,  other  conversation, 
with  whom  he  can  be  at  ease.  If  therefore  a  strict  hand  be  kept  over  children, 
from  the  beginning,  they  will  in  that  age  be  tractable,  and  quietly  submit  to  it, 
as  never  having  known  any  other,  and  if,  as  they  grow  up  to  the  use  of  reason, 
the  rigor  of  government  be,  as  they  deserve  it,  gently  relaxed,  the  father's 
brow  more  smoothed  to  them,  and  the  distance  by  degrees  abated,  his  former 
restraints  will  increase  their  love,  when  they  find  it  was  only  a  kindness  for 
them,  and  a  care  to  make  them  capable  to  deserve  the  favor  of  their  parents 
and  the  esteem  of  every  body  else. 

36.  Thus  much  for  the  settling  your  authority  over  children  in  general.  Fear 
and  awe  ought  to  give  you  the  first  power  over  their  minds,  and  love  and  friend- 
ship in  riper  years  to  hold  it ;  for  the  time  must  come  when  they  will  be  past 
the  rod  and  correction,  and  then,  if  the  love  of  you  make  them  not  obedient 
and  dutiful ;  if  the  love  of  virtue  and  reputation  keep  them  not  in  laudable 
courses,  I  ask,  what  hold  will  you  have  upon  them,  to  turn  them  to  it  ?    In* 


242  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

deed,  fear  of  having  a  scanty  portion,  if  they  displease  you,  may  make  theib. 
slaves  to  your  estate,  but  they  will  be  nevertheless  ill  and  wicked  in  private, 
and  that  restraint  will  not  last  always.  Every  man  must  some  time  or  other  be 
trusted  to  himself,  and  his  own  conduct ;  and  he  that  is  a  good,  a  virtuous,  and 
able  man,  must  be  made  so  within.  And,  therefore,  what  he  is  to  receive  from 
education,  what  is  to  sway  and  influence  his  life,  must  be  something  put  inta 
him  betimes ;  habits  woven  into  the  very  principles  of  his  nature,  and  not  a 
counterfeit  carriage,  and  dissembled  outside,  put  on  by  fear,  only  to  avoid  the 
present  anger  of  a  father,  who  perhaps  may  disinlierit  him. 

PUNISHMENTS. 

37.  This  being  laid  down  in  general,  as  the  course  ought  to  be  taken,  it  is  fit 
we  come  now  to  consider  the  parts  of  the  discipline  to  be  used  a  little  more 
particularly.  I  have  spoken  so  much  of  carrying  a  strict  hand  over  children, 
that  perhaps  I  shall  be  suspected  of  not  considering  enough  what  is  due  to  their 
tender  age  and  constitutions.  But  that  opinion  will  vanish,  when  you  have 
heard  me  a  little  farther.  For  I  am  very  apt  to  think,  that  great  severity  of  pun- 
ishment does  but  very  little  good ;  nay,  great  harm  in  education ;  and  I  believe 
that  it  will  be  found  that  cseteris  paribus,  those  children  who  have  boen^  most 
chastised,  seldom  make  the  best  men.  All  that  I  have  hitherto  contended  for, 
is,  that  whatsoever  rigor  is  necessary,  it  is  more  to  be  used,  the  younger  chil- 
dren are ;  and,  having  by  a  due  application  wrought  its  effect,  it  is  to  be  relaxed, 
and  changed  into  a  milder  sort  of  government. 


38.  A  compliance  and  suppleness  of  their  wills,  being  by  a  steady  hand  in- 
troduced by  parents,  before  children  have  memories  to  retain  the  beginnings 
of  it,  will  seem  natural  to  them,  and  work  afterwards  in  them  as  if  it  were  so, 
preventing  all  occasions  of  struggling  or  repining.  The  only  care  is,  that  it  be 
begun  early,  and  inflexibly  kept  to,  till  awe  and  respect  be  grown  familiar,  and 
there  appears  not  the  least  reluctancy  in  the  submission,  and  ready  obedience 
of  their  minds.  "When  this  reverence  is  once  thus  established,  (which  it  must 
be  early,  or  else  it  will  cost  pains  and  blows  to  recover  it,  and  tlie  more  the 
longer  it  is  deferred,)  it  is  by  it,  mixed  still  with  as  much  indulgence,  as  they 
made  not  an  ill  use  of,  and  not  by  beating,  chiding,  or  other  servile  punish- 
ments, they  are  for  the  future  to  be  governed,  as  they  grow  up  to  more  under- 
standing. 

SELF-DENIAL. 

39.  That  this  is  so,  will  be  easily  allowed,  when  it  is  but  considered  what  is 
to  be  aimed  at,  in  an  ingenuous  education,  and  upon  what  it  turns. 

1.  He  that  has  not  a  mastery  over  his  inclinations,  ho  that  knows  not  how  to 
resist  the  importunity  of  present  pleasure  or  pain,  for  the  sake  of  what  reason 
tells  him  is  fit  to  be  done,  wants  the  true  principle  of  virtue  and  industry,  and 
is  in  danger  of  never  being  good  for  any  thing.  This  temper,  therefore,  so  con- 
trary to  unguided  nature,  is  to  be  got  betimes ;  and  this  habit,  as  the  true 
foundation  of  fiiture  ability  and  happiness,  is  to  be  wrought  into  the  mind  as 
early  as  may  be,  even  from  the  first  dawnings  of  any  knowledge  or  apprehen- 
sion in  children,  and  so  to  be  confirmed  in  them  by  all  the  care  and  ways  imag- 
inable, by  those  who  have  the  oversight  of  their  education. 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION  243 

DEJECTED. 

40.  2.  On  the  other  side,  if  the  mind  be  curbed  and  humbled  too  much  in 
children;  if  their  spirits  be  abased  and  broken  much,  by  too  strict  a  hand  over 
them,  they  lose  all  their  vigor  and  industry,  and  are  in  a  worse  state  than  the 
former.  For  extravagant  young  fellows,  that  have  liveliness  and  spirit,  come 
sometimes  to  be  set  right,  and  so  make  able  and  great  men ;  but  dejected  minds, 
timorous  and  tame,  and  low  spirits,  are  hardly  ever  to  be  raised,  and  very  sel- 
dom attain  to  any  thing.  To  avoid  the  danger  that  is  on  either  hand  is  the  great 
art,  and  he  that  has  found  a  way  how  tn  keep  up  a  child's  spirit,  easy,  active, 
and  free,  and  yet,  at  the  same  time,  to  restrain  him  from  many  things  he  has  a 
mind  to,  and  to  draw  him  to  many  that  are  uneasy  to  him ;  he,  I  saj',  that  knows 
how  to  reconcile  these  seeming  contradictions,  has,  in  my  opinion,  got  the  true 
secret  of  education. 


41.  The  usual  lazy  and  short  way,  chastisement,  and  the  rod,  which"  is  the 
only  instrument  of  government  that  tutors  generally  know,  or  ever  think  of,  is 
the  most  unfit  of  any  to  be  used  in  education ;  because  it  tends  to  both  those 
mischiefs ;  which,  as  we  have  shown,  are  the  Scylla  and  Qharybdis,  which  on  the 
one  hand  or  the  other,  ruin  all  that  miscarry. 

42.  1.  This  kind  of  punishment  contributes  not  at  all  to  the  mastery  of  our 
natural  propensity  to  indulge  corporal  and  present  pleasure,  and  to  avoid  pain 
at  any  rate;  but  rather  encourages  it;  and  thereby  strengthens  that  in  us, 
which  is  the  root  from  whence  spring  all  vicious  actions,  and  the  irregularities 
of  life  From  what  other  motive,  but  of  sensual  pleasure  and  pain,  does  a  child 
act,  who  drudges  at  his  book  against  his  inclination,  or  abstains  from  eating 
unwholesome  fruit,  that  he  takes  pleasure  in,  only  out  of  fear  of  whipping? 
He  in  this  only  prefers  the  greater  corporal  pleasure,  or  avoids  the  greater  corpo- 
ral pain.  And  what  is  it  to  govern  his  actions,  and  direct  his  conduct  by  such 
motives  as  these  ?  What  is  it,  I  say,  but  to  cherish  that  principle  in  him,  which 
it  is  our  business  to  root  out  and  destroy  ?  And,  therefore,  I  can  not  thmk  any 
correction  useful  to  a  child,  where  the  shame  of  suffering  for  having  done  amiss, 
does  not  work  more  upon  him,  than  the  pain. 

43.  2.  This  sort  of  correction  naturally  breeds  an  aversion  to  that,  which  it 
is  the  tutor's  business  to  create  a  liking  to.  How  obvious  is  it  to  observe,  that 
children  come  to  hate  things  which  were  at  first  acceptable  to  them,  when  they 
find  themselves  whipped,  and  chid,  and  teased  about  them  ?  And  it  is  not  to 
be  wondered  at  in  them ;  when  grown  men  would  not  be  reconciled  to  any 
thmg  by  such  ways.  Who  is  there  that  would  not  be  disgusted  with  any  innocent 
recreation,  in  itself  indifferent  to  him,  if  he  should  with  blows,  or  ill  language 
be  hauled  to  it,  when  he  had  no  mind  ?  or  be  constantly  so  treated,  for  some 
circumstance,  in  his  application  to  it?  This  is  natural  to  be  so.  Offensive  cir- 
cumstances ordinarily  infect  innocent  things,  which  they  are  joined  with.  And 
the  very  sight  of  a  cup,  wherein  any  one  uses  to  take  nauseous  physic,  turns  his 
stomach ;  so  that  nothing  will  relish  well  out  of  it,  though  the  cup  be  ever  so 
clean,  and  well  shaped,  and  of  the  richest  materials. 

44.  3.  Such  a  sort  of  slavish  discipline  makes  a  slavish  temper.  The  child 
submits,  and  dissembles  obedience,  whilst  the  fear  of  the  rod  hangs  over  him ; 
but  when  that  is  removed,  and  by  being  out  of  sight,  he  can  promise  himself 


244  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

impunity,  he  gives  the  greater  scope  to  his  natural  inclination ;  which  by  this 
way  is  not  at  all  altered,  but  on  the  contrary  heightened  and  increased  in  him ; 
and  after  such  restraint,  breaks  out  usually  with  the  more  violence ;  or, 

45.  4.  If  severity  carried  to  the  highest  pitch  does  prevail,  and  works  a  cure 
upon  the  present  unruly  distemper,  it  is  often  bringing  in  the  room  of  it, 
worse  and  more  dangerous  disease,  by  breaking  the  mind,  and  then  in  the  place 
of  a  disorderly  young  fellow,  you  have  a  low-spirited,  moped  creature :  who, 
however,  with  his  unnatural  sobriety  he  may  please  silly  people,  who  commend 
tame,  inactive  children,  because  they  make  no  noise,  nor  give  them  any  trouble ; 
yet,  at  last,  will  probably  prove  as  uncomfortable  a  thing  to  his  friends,  as  he 
will  be,  nil  his  Hfe,  a  useless  thing  to  himself  and  others. 

REWARDS. 

46.  Beating,  then,  and  all  other  sorts  of  slavish  and  corporal  punishments, 
are  not  the  discipline  fit  to  be  used  in  the  education  of  those  who  would  have 
wise,  good,  and  ingenuous  men ;  and,  therefore,  very  rarely  to  be  applied,  and 
that  only  in  great  occasions,  and  cases  of  extremity.  On  the  other  side,  to  flat- 
ter children  by  rewards  of  things,  that  are  pleasant  to  them,  is  as  carefully  to 
be  avoided.  He  that  will  give  to  his  son  apples,  sugar-plums,  or  what  else, 
of  this  kind,  he  is  most  delighted  with,  to  make  him  learn  his  book,  does  but 
authorize  his  love  of  pleasure,  and  cocker  up  that  dangerous  propensity,  which 
he  ought  by  all  means  to  subdue  and  stifle  in  him.  You  can  never  hope  to 
teach  him  to  master  it,  whilst  you  compound  for  the  check  you  give  his  incli- 
nation in  one  place,  by  the  satisfaction  you  propose  to  it  in  another.  To  make 
a  good,  a  wise,  and  a  virtuous  man,  it  is  fit  he  should  learn  to  cross  his  appetite, 
and  deny  his  inclination  to  riches,  finery,  or  pleasing  his  palate,  &c.,  whenever 
his  reason  advises  the  contrary,  and  his  duty  requires  it.  But  when  you  draw 
him  to  do  any  thing  that  is  fit,  by  the  offer  of  money;  or  reward  the  pains  of 
learning  his  book,  by  the  pleasure  of  a  luscious  morsel ;  when  you  promise  him 
3l  lace  cravat,  or  a  fine  new  suit,  upon  the  peformance  of  some  of  his  little  tasks; 
what  do  you  by  proposing  these  as  reward.",  but  allow  them  to  be  the  good 
things  he  should  aim  at,  and  thereby  encourage  his  longing  for  them,  and  ac- 
custom him  to  place  his  happiness  in  them?  Thus  people,  to  prevail  with  chil- 
dren to  be  industrious  about  their  grammar,  dancing,  or  some  other  such  matter, 
of  no  great  moment  to  the  happiness  or  usefulness  of  their  lives,  by  misapplied 
rewards  and  punishments  sacrifice  their  virtue,  invert  the  order  of  their  educa- 
tion, and  teach  them  luxury,  pride,  or  covetousness,  &c.  For  in  this  way, 
flattering  those  wrong  inclinations,  which  they  should  restrain  and  suppress, 
they  lay  the  foundations  of  those  future  vices,  which  can  not  be  avoided,  but  by 
curbing  our  desires,  and  accustoming  them  early  to  submit  to  reason. 

47.  I  say  not  this,  that  I  would  have  children  kept  from  the  conveniences  or 
pleasures  of  life,  that  are  not  injurious  to  their  health  or  virtue :  on  the  contrary, 
I  would  have  their  lives  made  as  pleasant,  and  as  agreeable  to  them,  as  may  be 
in  a  plentiful  enjoyment  of  whatsoever  might  innocently  delight  them :  provided 
it  be  with  this  caution,  that  they  have  those  enjoyments,  only  as  the  consequen- 
ces of  the  state  of  esteem  and  acceptation  they  are  in  with  their  parents  and 
governors ;  but  they  should  never  be  offered  or  bestowed  on  them,  as  the  re- 
ward of  this  or  that  particular  performance  that  they  show  an  aversion  to,  or 
to  which  they  would  not  have  applied  themselves  without  that  temptation. 

48.  But  if  you  take  away  the  rod  on  one  hand,  and  these  little  encourage- 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  345 

ments,  which  they  are  taken  with,  on  the  other,  how  then,  (will  you  say,)  shall 
children  be  governed  ?  Remove  hope  and  fear,  and  there  is  an  end  of  all  dis- 
cipline. I  grant  that  good  and  evil,  reward  and  punishment,  are  the  only  mo- 
tives to  a  rational  creature ;  these  are  the  spur  and  reins,  whereby  all  mankind 
are  set  on  work,  and  guided,  and,  therefore,  they  are  to  be  made  use  of  to  chil- 
dren too.  For  I  advise  their  parents  and  governors  always  to  carry  this  in  their 
minds,  that  children  are  to  be  treated  as  rational  creatures. 

49.  Rewards,  I  grant,  and  punishments  must  be  proposed  to  children,  if  we 
intend  to  work  upon  them.  The  mistake  I  imagine,  is,  that  those  that  are  gen- 
erally made  use  of,  are  ill  chosen.  The  pains  and  pleasures  of  the  body  are,  I 
think,  of  ill  consequence,  when  made  the  rewards  and  punishments,  whereby 
men  would  prevail  on  their  children :  for  as  I  said  before,  they  serve  but  to 
increase  and  strengthen  those  inclinations  which  it  is  our  business  to  subdue 
and  master.  "What  principle  of  virtue  do  you  lay  in  a  child,  if  you  will  redeem 
his  desires  of  one  pleasure,  by  the  proposal  of  another  ?  This  is  but  to  enlarge 
his  appetite,  and  instruct  it  to  wander.  If  a  child  cries  for  an  unwholesome  and 
dangerous  fruit,  you  purchase  his  quiet  by  giving  him  a  less  hurtful  sweet  meat. 
This  perhaps  may  preserve  his  health ;  but  spoils  his  mind,  and  sets  that  far- 
ther out  of  order.  For  here  you  only  change  the  object;  but  flatter  still  his 
appetite,  and  allow  that  must  be  satisfied ;  wherein,  as  I  have  showed,  lies  the 
root  of  the  mischief:  and  till  you  bring  him  to  be  able  to  bear  a  denial  of  that 
satisfaction,  the  child  may  at  present  be  quiet  and  orderly,  but  the  disease  la 
not  cured.  By  this  way  of  proceeding  you  foment  and  cherish  in  him,  that 
which  is  the  spring  from  whence  all  the  evil  flows,  which  will  be  sure  on  the 
next  occasion  to  break  again  out  with  more  violence,  give  him  stronger  long- 
ings, and  you  more  trouble. 

REPUTATION. 

50.  The  rewards  and  punishments,  then,  whereby  we  should  keep  children  in 
order,  are  quite  of  another  kind ;  and  of  that  force,  that  when  we  can  get  them 
once  to  work,  the  business,  I  think,  is  done,  and  the  difBculty  is  over.  Esteem 
and  disgrace  are,  of  all  others,  the  most  powerful  incentives  to  the  mind,  when 
once  it  is  brought  to  relish  them.  If  you  can  once  get  into  children  a  love  of 
credit,  and  an  apprehension  of  shame  and  disgrace,  you  have  put  into  them  the 
true  principle,  which  will  constantly  work,  and  incline  them  to  the  right.  But 
it  will  be  asked,  how  shall  this  be  done  ? 

I  confess,  it  does  not,  at  first  appearance,  want  some  difficulty ;  but  yet  1 
think  it  worth  our  while  to  seek  the  ways  (and  practice  them  when  found)  to 
attain  this,  which  I  look  on  as  the  great  secret  of  education. 

51.  First,  children  (earlier  perhaps  than  we  think)  are  very  sensible  of  praise 
and  commendation.  They  find  a  pleasure  in  being  esteemed  and  valued,  espe- 
cially by  their  parents,  and  those  whom  they  depend  on.  If^  therefore,  the 
father  caress  and  commend  them,  when  they  do  well ;  show  a  cold  and  neglect- 
ful countenance  to  them  upon  doing  ill ;  and  this  accompanied  by  a  like  carriage 
of  the  mother,  and  all  others  that  are  about  them,  it  will  in  a  little  time  make 
them  sensible  of  the  difference,  and  this  if  constantly  observed,  I  doubt  not  but 
will  of  itself  work  more  than  threats  or  blows,  which  lose  their  force,  when 
once  grown  common,  and  are  of  no  use  when  shame  does  not  attend  them,  and 
therefore  are  to  be  forborne,  and  never  to  be  used  but  in  the  case  hereafler  men- 
tioned, when  it  is  brought  to  extremity. 


248  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

52.  But,  secondly,  to  make  the  sense  of  esteem  or  disgrace  sink  the  deeper, 
and  be  of  the  more  weight,  other  agreeable  or  disagreeable  things '  should  con- 
stantly accompany  these  different  states ;  not  as  particular  rewards  and  punish- 
ments of  this  or  that  particular  action,  but  as  necessarily  belonging  to,  and  con- 
stantly attending  one,  who  by  his  carriage  has  brought  himself  into  a  state  of 
disgrace  or  commendation.  By  which  way  of  treating  them,  children  may  as 
much  as  possible  be  brought  to  conceive,  that  those  that  are  commended  and 
in  esteem  for  doing  well,  will  necessarily  be  beloved  and  cherished  by  every 
body,  and  have  all  other  good  things  as  a  consequence  of  it ;  and,  on  the  other 
side,  when  any  one  by  miscarriage  falls  into  disesteem,  and  cares  not  to  preserve 
his  credit,  he  will  unavoidably  fall  under  neglect  and  contempt ;  and,  in  that 
state,  the  want  of  whatever  might  satisfy  or  delight  him,  will  follow.  In  this 
way  the  objects  of  their  desires  are  made  assisting  to  virtue ;  when  a  settled 
experience  from  the  beginning  teaches  children,  that  the  things  they  delight  in, 
belong  to,  and  are  to  be  enjoyed  by  those  only,  who  are  in  a  state  of  reputa- 
tion. If  by  these  means  you  can  come  once  to  shame  them  out  of  their  faults, 
(for  besides  that,  I  would  willingly  have  no  punishment,)  and  make  them  in 
love  with  the  pleasure  of  being  well  thought  on,  you  may  turn  them  as  you 
please,  and  they  will  be  in  love  with  all  the  ways  of  virtue. 

53.  The  great  difiSculty  here  is,  I  imagine,  from  the  folly  and  perverseness 
of  servants,  who  are  hardly  to  be  hindered  from  crossing  herein  the  design 
of  the  father  and  mother.  Children,  discountenanced  by  their  parents  for 
any  fault,  find  usually  a  refuge  and  relief  in  the  caresses  of  those  foohsh 
flatterers,  who  thereby  undo  whatever  the  parents  endeavor  to  establish. 
When  the  father  or  mother  looks  sour  on  the  child,  every  body  else  should  put 
on  the  same  coldness  to  him,  and  nobody  give  him  countenance,  till  forgiveness 
asked,  and  a  reformation  of  his  fault,  has  set  him  right  again,  and  restored  him 
to  his  former  credit.  If  this  were  constantly  observed,  I  guess  there  would  be 
little  need  of  blows  or  chiding :  their  own  ease  and  satisfaction  would  quickly 
teach  children  to  court  commendation,  and  avoid  doing  that  which  tiiey  found 
every  body  condemned,  and  they  were  sure  to  suffer  for,  without  being  chid  or 
beaten.  This  would  teach  them  modesty  and  shame ;  and  they  would  quickly 
come  to  have  a  natural  abhorrence  for  that  which  they  found  made  them  slighted 
and  neglected  by  every  body.  But  how  this  inconvenience  from  servants  is  to 
be  remedied,  I  must  leave  to  parents'  care  and  consideration.  Only  I  think  it  of 
great  importance,  and  that  they  are  very  happy,  who  can  get  discreet  people 
about  their  children. 

54.  Frequent  beating  or  chiding  is  therefore  carefully  to  be  avoided,  because 
this  sort  of  correction  never  produces  any  good,  farther  than  it  serves  to  raise 
shame  and  abhorrence  of  the  miscarriage  that  brought  it  on  them.  And  if  the 
greatest  part  of  the  trouble  be  not  the  sense  that  they  have  done  amiss,  and  the 
apprehension  that  they  have  drawn  on  tliemselves  the  just  displeasure  of  their 
best  friends,  the  pain  of  whipping  will  work  but  an  imperfect  cure.  It  only 
patches  up  for  the  present,  and  skins  it  over,  but  reaches  not  to  the  bottom  of 
the  sore.  Ingenuous  shame,  and  the  apprehension  of  displeasure,  are  the  only 
true  restraints ;  these  alone  ought  to  hold  the  reins,  and  keep  the  child  in  order. 
But  corporal  punishments  must  necessarily  lose  that  effect,  and  wear  out  the 
sense  of  shame,  where  they  frequently  return.  Shame  in  children  has  the  same 
place  that  modesty  has  in  women,  which  can  not  be  kept,  and  oflen  trans- 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  247 

greased  against.  And  as  to  the  apprehension  of  displeasure  in  the  parents, 
they  will  come  to  be  insignificant,  if  the  marks  of  that  displeasure  quickly 
■cease,  and  a  few  blows  fully  expiate.  Parents  should  well  consider  what  faults 
in  their  children  are  weighty  enough  to  deserve  the  declaration  of  their  anger  ; 
but  when  their  displeasure  is  once  declared  to  a  degree  that  carries  any  punish- 
ment with  it,  they  ought  not  presently  to  lay  by  the  severity  of  their  brows, 
but  to  restore  their  children  to  their  former  grace  with  some  difficulty,  and  delay 
a  full  reconciliation  till  their  conformity,  and  more  than  ordinary  merit,  make 
good  their  amendment.  If  this  be  not  so  ordered,  punishment  will  by  famil- 
iarity become  a  mere  thing  of  course,  and  lose  all  its  influence  ;  offending  being 
chastised,  and  then  forgiven,  will  be  thought  as  natural  and  necessary  as  noon, 
night,  and  morning,  following  one  another. 

55.  Concerning  reputation,  I  shall  only  remark  this  one  thing  more  of  it ; 
that,  though  it  be  not  the  true  principle  and  measure  of  virtue,  (for  that  is  the 
knowledge  of  a  man's  duty,  and  the  satisfaction  it  is  to  obey  his  Maker,  in  fol- 
lowing the  dictates  of  that  light  God  has  given  him,  with  the  hopes  of  accepta- 
tion and  reward,)  yet  it  is  that  which  comes  nearest  to  it,  and  being  the  testi- 
mony and  applause  that  other  people's  reason,  as  it  were,  by  a  common  consent, 
gives  to  virtuous  and  well-ordered  actions,  it  is  the  proper  guide  and  encourage- 
ment of  children,  till  they  grow  able  to  judge  for  themselves,  and  to  find  what 
is  right  by  their  own  reason. 

56.  This  consideration  may  direct  parents  how  to  manage  themselves  in  re- 
proving and  commending" their  children.  The  rebukes  and  chiding  which  their 
faults  will  sometimes  make  hardly  to  be  avoided,  should  not  only  be  in  sober, 
grave,  and  unpassionate  words,  but  also  alone  and  in  private ;  but  the  com- 
mendations children  deserve  they  should  receive  before  others.  This  doubles 
the  reward,  by  spreading  their  praise ;  but  the  backwardness  parents  show  in 
•divulging  their  faults,  will  make  them  set  a  greater  value  on  their  credit  them- 
selves, and  teach  them  to  be  the  more  careful  to  preserve  the  good  opinion  of 
■others,  whilst  they  think  they  have  it;  but  when,  being  exposed  to  shame,  by 
publishing  their  miscarriages,  they  give  it  up  for  lost,  tliat  check  upon  them  is 
taken  off,  and  they  will  be  the  less  careful  to  preserve  others'  good  thoughts 
of  them,  the  more  they  suspect  that  their  reputation  with  them  is  already 
blemished. 

CHILDISHNESS. 

57.  But  if  a  right  course  be  taken  with  children,  there  will  not  be  so  much 
need  of  the  application  of  the  common  rewards  and  punishments  as  we  imagined, 
and  as  the  general  practice  has  established.  For  all  their  innocent  folly,  play- 
ing and  childish  actions,  are  to  be  left  perfectly  free  and  unrestrained,  as  far  as 
they  can  consist  with  the  respect  due  to  those  that  are  present,  and  that  with 
the  greatest  allowance.  If  these  faults  of  their  age,  rather  than  of  the  children 
themselves,  were,  as  they  should  be,  left  only  to  time  and  imitation,  and  riper 
years  to  cure,  children  would  escape  a  great  deal  of  misapplied  and  useless  cor- 
rection, which  either  fails  to  overpower  the  natural  disposition  of  their  child- 
hood, and  so,  by  an  ineffectual  familiarity,  makes  correction  in  otiier  necessary 
cases  of  loss  use ;  or  else  if  it  be  of  force  to  restrain  the  natural  gayoty  of  that 
age,  it  serves  only  to  spoil  the  temper  both  of  body  and  mind.  If  the  noise 
and  bustle  of  their  play  prove  at  any  time  inconvenient,  or  unsuitable  to  thp 


248  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

place  or  company  they  are  in,  (which  can  only  be  where  their  parents  are,)  a 
look  or  a  word  from  the  father  or  mother,  if  they  have  established  the  authority 
they  should,  will  be  enough  either  to  remove,  or  quiet  them  for  that  time.  But 
this  gamesome  humor,  which  is  wisely  adapted  by  nature  to  their  age  and  tem- 
X)er,  should  rather  be  encouraged,  to  keep  up  their  spirits,  and  improve  their 
strength  and  liealth,  than  curbed  or  restrained ;  and  the  chief  art  is  to  make  all 
that  they  have  to  do,  sport  and  play  too. 

R0LES 

58.  And  here  give  me  leave  to  take  notice  of  one  thing  I  thmk  a  fault  in  the 
ordinary  method  of  education  ;  and  that  is,  the  charging  of  children's  memories, 
upon  all  occasions,  with  rules  and  precepts  which  they  often  do  not  understand, 
and  are  constantly  as  soon  forgot  as  given.  If  it  be  some  action  you  would 
have  done,  or  done  otherwise,  whenever  they  forget  or  do  it  awkwardly,  make 
them  do  it  over  and  over  again,  till  they  are  perfect,  whereby  you  will  get 
these  two  advantages :  First,  to  see  whether  it  be  an  action  they  can  do,  or  is 
fit  to  be  expected  of  them.  For  sometimes  children  are  bid  to  do  things  which 
upon  trial,  they  are  found  not  able  to  do,  and  had  need  be  taught  and  exercised 
in,  before  they  are  required  to  do  them.  But  it  is  much  easier  for  a  tutor  to 
command  than  to  teach.  Secondly,  another  thing  got  by  it  will  be  this,  that 
by  repeating  the  same  action  till  it  be  grown  habitual  in  them,  the  performance 
will  not  depend  on  memory,  or  reflection,  the  concomitant  of  prudence  and 
age,  and  not  of  childhood ;  but  will  be  natural  in  them.  Thus,  bowing  to  a  gen- 
tleman when  he  salutes  him,  and  looking  in  his  face  when  he  speaks  to  him,  is 
by  constant  use  as  natural  to  a  well-bred  man,  as  breathing ;  it  requires  no 
thought,  no  reflection.  Having  this  way  cured  in  your  child  any  fault,  it  is 
cured  forever ;  and  thus,  one  by  one,  you  may  weed  them  out  all,  and  plant 
what  habits  you  please. 

59.  I  have  seen  parents  so  heap  rules  on  their  children,  that  it  was  impossi- 
ble for  the  poor  little  ones  to  remember  a  tenth  part  of  them,  much  less  to  ob- 
serve them.  However,  they  were  either  by  words  or  blows  corrected  for  the 
breach  of  tliose  multiplied  and  often  very  impertinent  precepts.  Whence  it 
naturally  followed,  that  the  children  minded  not  what  was  said  to  them  when  it 
was  evident  to  them,  that  no  attention  they  were  capable  ofj  was  sufiBcient  to 
preserve  them  from  transgression,  and  the  rebukes  which  followed  it. 

Let  therefore  your  rules  to  your  son  be  as  few  as  is  possible,  and  rather  fewer 
than  more  than  seem  absolutely  necessary.  For  if  you  burden  him  with  many 
rules,  one  of  these  two  things  must  necessarily  follow ;  that  either  he  must  be 
very  often  punished,  which  will  be  of  ill  consequence,  by  making  punishment  too 
frequent  and  familiar,  or  else  you  must  let  the  transgressions  of  some  of  your  rules 
go  unpunished,  whereby  they  will  of  course  grow  contemptible,  and  your  au- 
thority become  cheap  to  him.  Make  but  few  laws,  but  see  they  be  well  ob- 
served, when  once  made.  Few  years  require  but  few  laws;  and,  as  bis  age 
increases,  when  one  rule  is  by  practice  well  established,  you  may  add  another. 

HABITS. 

60.  But  pray  remember,  children  are  not  to  be  taught  by  rules,  which  will 
be  always  slipping  out  of  their  memories.     What  you  think  necessary  for  themi 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  249 

to  do,  settle  in  them  by  an  indispensable  practice,  as  often  as  the  occasion  re- 
turns, and  if  it  be  possible,  make  occasions.  This  will  beget  habits  in  them 
which,  being  once  established,  operate  of  themselves,  easily  and  naturally, 
without  the  assistance  of  the  memory.  But  here  let  me  give  two  cautions : 
1.  The  one  is,  that  you  keep  them  to  the  practice  of  what  you  would  have 
grow  into  a  habit  in  them,  by  kind  words  and  gentle  admonitions,  rather  as 
minding  them  of  what  they  forget,  than  by  harsh  rebukes  and  chiding  as  if  they 
were  willfully  guilty.  2.  Another  thing  you  are  to  take  care  of  is,  not  to  en- 
deavor to  settle  too  many  habits  at  once,  lest  by  a  variety  you  confound  them, 
and  so  perfect  none.  When  constant  custom  has  made  any  one  thing  easy  and 
natural  to  them,  and  they  practice  it  without  reflection,  you  may  then  go  on  ta 
another. 

This  method  of  teaching  children  by  a  repeated  practice,  and  the  same  action 
done  over  and  over  again,  under  the  eye  and  direction  of  the  tutor,  till  they 
have  got  the  habit  of  doing  it  well,  and  not  by  relying  on  rules  trusted  to  their 
memories,  has  so  many  advantages,  which  way  soever  we  consider  it,  that  I  can 
not  but  wonder  (if  ill  customs  could  be  wondered  at  in  any  thing,)  how  it  could 
possibly  be  so  much  neglected.  I  shall  name  one  more  that  comes  now  in  my 
way.  By  this  method  we  shall  see,  whether  what  is  required  of  him  be  adapted 
to  his  capacity,  and  any  way  suited  to  the  child's  natural  genius  and  constitu- 
tion, for  that  too  must  be  considered  in  a  right  education.  "We  must  not  hope 
wholly  to  change  their  original  tempers,  nor  make  the  gay  pensive  and  grave, 
nor  the  melancholy  sportive,  without  spoiling  them.  God  has  stamped  certain 
characters  upon  men's  minds,  which,  like  their  shapes,  may  perhaps  be  a  little 
mended,  but  can  hardly  be  totally  altered  and  transformed  into  the  contrary. 

He,  therefore,  that  is  about  children,  should  well  study  their  natures  and  apti- 
tudes, and  see,  by  often  trials,  what  turn  they  easily  take,  and  what  becomes 
them ;  observe  what  their  native  stock  is,  how  it  may  be  improved,  and  what 
it  is  fit  for ;  he  should  consider  what  they  want,  whether  they  be  capable  of 
having  it  wrought  into  them  by  industry,  and  incorporated  there  by  practice ; 
and  whether  it  be  worth  while  to  endeavor  it.  For,  in  many  cases,  all  that  wo 
can  do,  or  should  aim  at,  is,  to  make  the  best  of  what  nature  has  given,  to  pre- 
vent the  vices  and  faults  to  which  such  a  constitution  is  most  incHned,  and  give- 
it  all  the  advantages  it  is  capable  of.'  Everyone's  natural  genius  should  be 
carried  as  far  as  it  could ;  but  to  attempt  the  putting  another  upon  him,  will  b& 
but  labor  in  vain ;  and  what  is  so  plastered  on,  will  at  best  sit  but  untowardly, 
and  have  always  hanging  to  it  the  ungracefulness  of  constraint  and  aflecta- 
tion. 

AFFECTATION. 

Affectation  is  not,  I  confess,  an  early  fault  of  childhood,  or  the  product  of 
untaught  nature;  it  is  of  that  sort  of  weeds  which  grow  not  in  the  wild  uncul- 
tivated waste,  but  in  garden-plots,  under  the  negligent  hand,  or  unskillful  care- 
of  a  gardener.  Management  and  instruction,  and  some  sense  of  the  necessity 
of  breeding,  are  requisite  to  make  any  one  capable  of  affectation,  which  en- 
deavors to  correct  natural  defects,  and  has  always  the  laudable  aim  of  pleasing, 
though  it  always  misses  it ;  and  the  more  it  labors  to  put  on  gracefulness,  the- 
farther  it  is  from  it.  For  this  reason  it  is  the  more  carefully  to  be  watched,  be- 
cause it  is  the  proper  fault  of  education  ;  a  perverted  education  indeed,  but  such 


250  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

aa  young  people  often  fall  into,  either  by  their  own  mistake,  or  the  ill  conduct 
of  those  about  them. 

He  that  will  examine  wherein  that  gracefulness  lies,  which  always  pleases, 
will  find  it  arises  from  that  natural  coherence,  which  appears  between  the  thing 
done,  and  such  a  temper  of  mind,  as  can  not  but  be  approved  of  as  suitable  to 
the  occasion.  We  can  not  but  be  pleased  with  an  humane,  friendly,  civil  tem- 
per, wherever  we  meet  with  it.  A  mind  free,  and  master  of  itself  and  all  its 
actions,  not  low  and  narrow,  not  haughty  and  insolent,  not  blemished  with  any 
great  defect,  is  what  every  one  is  taken  with.  The'actions  which  naturally  flow 
from  such  a  well-formed  mind,  please  us  also,  as  the  genuine  marks  of  it,  and  be- 
ing aa  it  were,  natural  emanations  from  the  spirit  and  disposition  within,  can  not 
but  be  easy  and  unconstrained.  This  seems  to  me  to  be  that  beauty,  which 
shines  through  some  men's. actions,  sets  off  all  that  they  do,  and  takes  with  all 
they  come  near,  when  by  a  constant  practice  they  have  fashioned  their  carriage 
and  made  all  those  little  expressions  of  civility  and  respect,  which  nature  or 
custom  has  established  in  conversation,  so  easy  to  themselves,  that  they  seem 
not  artificial  or  studied,  but  naturally  to  follow  from  a  sweetness  of  mind  and  a 
well-turned  disposition. 

On  the  other  side,  affectation  is  an  awkward  and  forced  imitation  of  what 
should  be  genuine  and  easy,  wanting  the  beauty  that  accompanies  what  is 
natural ;  because  there  is  always  a  disagreement  between  the  outward  action, 
and  the  mind  within,  one  of  these  two  ways:  1.  Either  when  a  man  would  out- 
wardly put  on  a  disposition  of  mind,  which  then  he  really  has  not,  but  en- 
deavors by  a  forced  carriage  to  make  show  of,  yet  so  that  the  constraint  he  ia 
under,  discovers  itself,  and  thus  men  affect  sometimes  to  appear  sad,  merry,  or 
kind,  when,  in  truth,  they  are  not  so. 

2.  The  other  is,  when  they  do  not  endeavor  to  make  show  of  dispositions  of 
mind  which  they  have  not,  but  to  express  those  they  have  by  a  carriage  not 
suited  to  them ;  and  such  in  conversation  are  all  constrained  motions,  actions, 
words  or  looks  which,  though  designed  to  show  either  their  respect  or  civility 
to  the  company,  or  their  satisfaction  and  easiness  in  it,  are  not  yet  natural  nor 
genuine  marks  of  the  one  or  the  other,  but  rather  of  some  defect  or  mistake 
within.  Imitation  of  others,  without  discerning  what  is  graceful  in  them,  or 
what  is  peculiar  to  their  characters,  often  makes  a  great  part  of  this.  But  affect- 
ation of  all  kinds,  whencesoever  it  proceeds,  is  always  ofiensive,  because  we 
naturally  hate  whatever  is  counterfeit,  and  condemn  those  who  have  nothing 
better  to  recommend  themselves  by. 

Plain  and  rough  nature,  left  to  itself,  is  much  better  than  an  artificial  un- 
gracefulness,  and  such  studied  ways  of  being  ill-fashioned.  The  want  of  an 
accomplishment,  or  some  defect  in  our  behavior,  coming  short  of  the  utmost 
gracefulness,  often  escapes  observation  and  censure.  But  affectation  in  any 
part  of  our  carriage,  is  lighting  up  a  candle  to  our  defects,  and  never  fails  to 
make  us  taken  notice  of,  either  as  wanting  sense,  or  wanting  sincerity.  This 
governors  ought  the  more  diligently  to  look  after,  because,  as  I  have  observed, 
it  is  an  acquired  ugliness,  owing  to  mistaken  education,  few  being  guilty  of  it 
but  those  who  pretend  to  breeding,  and  would  not  be  thought  ignor,?iit  of  what 
is  fashionable  and  becoming  in  conversation ;  and,  if  I  mistake  not,  it  has  often 
its  rise  from  the  lazy  admonitions  of  those  who  give  rules,  and  propose  exam- 
ples, without  joining  practice  with  their  instructions,  and  making  their  pupila 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  251 

repeat  the  action  in  their  sight,  that  they  may  correct  what  is  indecent  or  con- 
fitrained  in  it,  till  it  be  perfected  into  an  habitual  and  becoming  easiness. 

MANNERS. 

61.  Manners,  as  they  call  it,  about  which  children  are  so  often  perplexed,  and 
have  so  many  goodly  exhortations  made  them,  by  their  wise  maids  and  govern* 
«sses,  I  think,  are  rather  to  be  learned  by  example  than  rules ;  and  then  chil- 
dren, if  kept  out  of  ill  company,  will  take  a  pride  to  behave  themselves  prettily, 
after  the  fashion  of  others,  perceiving  themselves  esteemed  and  commended 
for  it.  But  ii"  by  a  little  negligence  in  this  part,  the  boy  should  not  put  off  his 
hat,  nor  make  legs  very  gracefully,  a  dancing-master  will  cure  that  defect,  and 
wipe  oS"  all  that  plainness  of  nature,  which  the  ii-la-mode  people  call  clownishness. 
And  since  nothing  appears  to  me  to  give  children  so  much  becoming  confidence 
and  behavior,  and  so  to  raise  them  to  the  conversation  of  those  above  their  age, 
as  dancing,  I  think  they  should  be  taught  to  dance,  as  soon  as  they  are  capable 
of  learning  it.  For,  though  this  consist  only  in  outward  gracefulness  of  motion, 
yet  I  know  not  how  it  gives  children  manly  thoughts  and  carriage,  more  than 
anything.  But  otherwise  I  would  not  have  little  children  much  tormented 
about  punctilios,  or  niceties  of  breeding. 

Never  trouble  yourself  about  those  faults  in  them  which  you  know  age  will 
cure.  And,  therefore,  want  of  well-fashioned  civility  in  the  carriage,  whilst 
civility  is  not  wanting  in  the  mind,  (for  there  you  must  take  care  to  plant  it 
early,)  should  be  the  parents'  least  care  whilst  they  are  young.  If  his  tender 
mind  be  filled  with  a  veneration  for  his  parents  and  teachers,  which  consists  in 
love  and  esteem,  and  a  fear  to  offend  them,  and  with  respect  and  good-will  to 
all  people,  that  respect  will  of  itself  teach  those  ways  of  expressing  it  which  he 
■observes  most  acceptable.  Be  sure  to  keep  up  in  him  the  principles  of  good- 
nature and  kindness ;  make  them  as  habitual  as  you  can,  by  credit  and  com- 
mendation, and  the  good  things  accompanying  that  state,  and  when  they  have 
taken  root  in  his  mind,  and  are  settled  there  by  a  continued  practice,  fear  not; 
the  ornaments  of  conversation,  and  the  outside  of  fashionable  manners,  will 
■come  in  their  due  time,  if,  when  they  are  removed  out  of  their  maid's  care,  they 
are  put  into  the  hands  of  a  well-bred  man  to  be  their  governor. 

Whilst  they  are  very  young,  any  carelessness  is  to  be  borne  with  in  children 
that  carries  not  with  it  the  marks  of  pride  or  ill-nature,  but  those,  whenever 
they  appear  in  any  action,  are  to  be  corrected  immediately,  by  the  ways  above- 
mentioned.  What  I  have  said  concerning  manners,  I  would  not  have  so  under- 
stood, as  if  I  meant  that  those  who  have  the  judgment  to  do  it,  should  not 
gently  feshion  the  motions  and  carriage  of  children  when  they  are  very  young. 
It  would  be  of  great  advantage,  if  they  had  people  about  them  from  their  being 
first  able  to  go,  that  had  the  skill,  and  would  take  the  right  way  to  do  it.  That 
which  I  complain  of  is  the  wrong  course  that  is  usually  taken  in  this  matter. 
Children  who  were  never  taught  any  such  thing  as  behavior,  are  often  (espe- 
cially when  strangers  are  present)  chid  for  having  some  way  or  other  failed  in 
good  manners,  and  have  thereupon  reproofs  and  precepts  heaped  upon  them, 
concerning  putting  off  their  hats,  or  making  of  legs,  &c.  Though  in  this  those 
concerned  pretend  to  correct  the  child,  yet  in  truth,  for  the  most  part,  it  is  but 
to  cover  their  own  shame,  and  they  lay  the  blame  on  the  poor  little  ones,  some- 
times pas.sionately  enough,'  to  divert  it  from  themselves,  for  fear  the  bystanders 
should  impute  to  their  want  of  care  and  skill  the  child's  Ul  behavior. 


253  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

For,  as  for  the  children  themselves,  they  are  never  one  jot  bettered  by  such 
occasional  lectures ;  they  at  other  times  should  be  shown  what  to  do,  and  by 
reiterated  actions  be  fashioned  before-hand  into  the  practice  of  what  is  fit  and 
becoming,  and  not  told,  and  talked  to  do  upon  the  spot,  what  they  have  never 
been  accustomed  to,  nor  know  how  to  do  as  they  should ;  to  hare  and  rate  them 
thus  at  every  turn,  is  not  to  teach  them,  but  to  vex  and  torment  them  to  no 
purp  )se.  They  should  be  let  alone,  rather  than  chid  for  a  fault,  which  is  none- 
of  theirs,  nor  is  in  their  power  to  mend  for  speaking  to.  And  it  were  much 
better  their  natural,  childish  negligence,  or  plainness,  should  be  left  to  the  care 
of  riper  years,  than  that  they  should  frequently  have  rebukes  misplaced  upon 
them,  which  neither  do  nor  can  give  them  graceful  motions.  If  their  minds  are 
well  disposed,  and  principled  with  inward  civility,  a  great  part  of  the  roughneas- 
which  sticks  to  the  outside  for  want  of  better  teaching,  time  and  observatioa 
will  rub  off,  as  they  grow  up,  if  they  are  bred  in  good  company ;  but  if  in  iU, 
all  the  rules  in  the  world,  all  the  correction  imaginable,  will  not  be  able  to  pol- 
ish them.  For  you  must  take  this  for  a  certain  truth,  that  let  them  have  what 
instructions  you  will,  and  ever  so  learned  lectures  of  breeding  daily  inculcated 
into  them,  that  which  will  most  influence  their  carriage,  will  be  the  company 
they  converse  with,  and  the  fashion  of  those  about  them.  Children  (nay,  and 
men  too,)  do  most  by  example.  "We  are  all  a  sort  of  chameleons,  that  still  take 
a  tincture  from  things  near  us ;  nor  is  it  to  be  wondered  at  in  children,  who- 
better  understand  what  they  see  than  what  they  hear. 

62.  I  mentioned  above,  one  great  mischief  that  came  by  servants  to  children, 
when  by  their  flatteries  they  take  off  the  edge  and  force  of  the  parents'  rebukes, 
and  so  lessen  their  authority.  And  here  is  another  great  inconvenience  which 
children  receive  from  the  ill  examples  which  they  meet  with  amongst  the 
meaner  servants. 

They  are  wholly,  if  possible,  to  be  kept  from  such  conversation ;  for  the  con- 
tagion of  these  ill  precedents,  both  in  civihty  and  virtue,  horribly  infects  chil- 
dren, as  often  as  they  come  withm  reach  of  it.  They  frequently  learn,  from 
unbred  or  debauched  servants,  such  language,  untowardly  tricks  and  vices,  as- 
otherwise  they  possibly  would  be  ignorant  of  all  their  lives. 

63.  It  is  a  hard  matter  wholly  to  prevent  this  mischief.  You  will  have  very 
good  luck  if  you  never  have  a  clownish  or  vicious  servant,  and  if  from  them 
your  children  never  get  any  infection.  But  yet,  as  much  must  be  done  towards 
it  as  can  be,  and  the  children  kept  as  much  as  may  be  in  the  company  of  their 
parents,*  and  those  to  whose  care  they  are  committed.  To  this  purpose,  their 
being  in  their  presence  should  be  made  easy  to  them ;  they  should  be  allowed  the 
liberties  and  freedom  suitable  to  their  ages,  and  not  be  held  under  unnecessary 
restraints,  when  in  their  parents'  or  governor's  sight.  If  it  be  a  prison  to  thera 
it  is  no  wonder  they  should  not  like  it.  They  must  not  be  hindered  from  being 
children,  or  from  playing  or  doing  as  children,  but  from  doing  ill.  All  other 
liberty  is  to  be  allowed  them.  Next,  to  make  them  in  love  with  the  company 
of  their  parents,  they  should  receive  all  their  good  things  there,  and  from  their 
hands.     The  servants  should  be  hindered  from  making  court  to  them,  by  giving 

•  How  much  the  Romans  thought  the  education  of  their  children  a  business  that  properly 
belonged  to  the  parents  themselves,  see  in  Suetonius,  August,  sect.  64.  Plutarch  in  vita  Ca- 
tonis  Censoris;  Diodorus  Siculus,  1.  2.  chap.  3. 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  253 

them  strong  drink,  wine,  fruit,  playthings,  and  other  such  matters,  which  may 
make  them  in  love  with  their  conversation. 

COMPANY. — PUBLIC   SCHOOLS. 

64.  Having  named  company,  I  am  almost  ready  to  throw  away  my  pen,  and 
trouble  you  no  farther  on  this  subject.  For  since  that  does  more  than  all  pre- 
cepts, rules,  and  instructions,  methinks  it  is  almost  wholly  in  vain  to  make  a 
long  discourse  of  other  things,  and  to  talk  of  that  almost  to  no  purpose.  For 
you  will  be  ready  to  say,  "What  shall  I  do  with  my  son?  If  I  keep  him 
always  at  home,  he  will  be  in  danger  to  be  my  young  master ;  and  if  I  send 
him  abroad,  how  is  it  possible  to  keep  him  from  the  contagion  of  rudeness  and 
vice,  which  is  everywhere  so  in  fashion  ?  In  my  house  he  will  perhaps  be  more 
innocent,  but  more  ignorant  too  of  the  world,  wanting  their  change  of  company, 
and  being  used  constantly  to  the  same  faces,  he  will,  when  he  comes  abroad,  be 
a.  sheepish  or  conceited  creature." 

I  confess,  both  sides  have  their  inconveniences.  Being  abroad,  it  is  true, 
will  make  him  bolder,  and  better  able  to  bustle  and  shift  amongst  boys  of  his 
own  age,  and  the  emulation  of  school-fellows  often  puts  life  and  industry  into 
young  lads.  But  till  you  can  find  a  school,  wherein  it  is  possible  for  the  master 
to  look  after  the  manners  of  his  scholars,  and  can  show  as  great  effects  of  his 
<^re  of  forming  their  minds  to  virtue,  and  their  carriage  to  good  breeding,  as 
of  forming  their  tongues  to  the  learned  languages,  you  must  confess  that  you 
have  a  strange  value  for  words,  when,  preferring  the  languages  of  the  ancient 
Greeks  and  Romans  to  that  which  made  them  such  brave  men,  you  think  it 
worth  while  to  hazard  your  son's  innocence  and  virtue,  for  a  little  Greek  and 
Latin.  For,  as  for  that  boldness  and  spirit,  which  lads  get  amongst  their  play- 
fellows at  school,  it  has  ordinarily  such  a  mixture  of  rudeness,  and  an  ill-turned 
confidence,  that  those  misbecoming  and  disingenuous  ways  of  shifting  in  the 
world  must  be  unlearned,  and  all  the  tincture  washed  out  again,  to  make  way 
for  better  principles,  and  such  manners  as  make  a  truly  worthy  man.  He  that 
considers  how  diametrically  opposite  the  skill  of  living  well,  and  managing,  as 
a  man  should  do,  his  affairs  in  the  world,  is  to  that  malapertness,  tricking,  or 
violence,  learnt  among  school-boys,  wUl  think  the  faults  of  a  privater  education 
infinitely  to  be  preferred  to  such  improvements,  and  will  take  care  to  preserve 
his  child's  innocence  and  modesty  at  home,  as  being  nearer  of  kin,  and  more  in 
the  way  of  those  qualities,  .which  make  a  useful  and  able  man.  Nor  does 
any  one  find,  or  so  much  as  suspect,  that  that  retirement  and  bashfulness  which 
their  daughters  are  brought  up  in,  makes  them  less  knowing  or  less  able  women. 
Conversation,  when  they  come  into  the  world,  soon  gives  them  a  becoming  as- 
surance, and  whatsoever  beyond  that,  there  is  of  rough  and  boisterous,  may  in 
men  be  very  well  spared  too;  for  courage  and  steadiness,  as  I  take  it,  lie  not  in 
roughness  and  ill-breeding. 

Virtue  is  harder  to  be  got  than  a  knowledge  of  the  world,  and  if  lost  in  a 
young  man,  is  seldom  recovered.  Sheepishness  and  ignorance  of  the  world,  the 
faults  imputed  to  a  private  education,  are  neither  the  necessary  consequences  of 
being  bred  at  home,  nor,  if  they  were,  are  they  incurable  evils.  Vice  is  the  more 
stubborn,  as  well  as  the  more  dangerous  evil  of  the  two,  and  therefore,  in  the 
first  place,  to  be  fenced  against.  If  that  slieepish  softness,  which  often  ener- 
vates those  who  are  bred  like  fondlings  at  liome,  be  carefully  to  be  avoided,  it 


254  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

is  principally  so  for  virtue's  sake,  for  fear  lest  such  a  yielding  temper  should  b& 
too  susceptible  of  vicious  impressions,  and  expose  the  novice  too  easily  to  be- 
corrupted.  A  young  man  before  he  leaves  the  shelter  of  his  father's  house,  and 
the  guard  of  a  tutor,  should  be  fortified  with  resolution,  and  made  acquainted 
with  men,  to  secure  his  virtue,  lest  he  should  be  led  into  some  ruinous  course, 
or  fatal  precipice,  before  he  is  sufficiently  acquainted  with  the  dangers  of  con- 
versation, and  has  steadiness  enough  not  to  yield  to  every  temptation.  Were  it 
not  for  this,  a  young  man's  bashfulness,  and  ignorance  of  the  world,  would  not 
so  much  need  an  early  care.  Conversation  would  cure  it  in  a  great  measure, 
or,  if  that  wOl  not  do  it  early  enough,  it  is  only  a  stronger  reason  for  a  good 
tutor  at  home.  For,  if  pains  be  to  be  taken  to  give  him  a  manly  air  and  assur- 
ance betimes,  it  is  chiefly  as  a  fence  to  his  virtue  when  he  goes  into  the  world, 
under  his  own  conduct. 

It  is  preposterous,  therefore,  to  sacrifice  his  innocency  to  the  attaining  of  con- 
fidence, and  some  little  skill  of  bustling  for  himself  among  others,  by  his  con- 
versation with  ill-bred  and  vicious  boys,  when  the  chief  use  of  that  sturdiness, 
and  standing  upon  his  own  legs,  is  only  for  the  preservation  of  his  virtue.  For 
if  confidence  or  cunning  come  once  to  mix  with  vice,  and  support  his  miscarT 
riages,  he  is  only  the  surer  lost,  and  you  must  undo  again,  and  strip  him  of  that 
he  has  got  from  his  companions,  or  give  him  up  to  ruin.  Bo}' s  will  unavoid- 
ably be  taught  assurance  by  conversation  with  men,  when  they  are  brought 
into  it,  and  that  is  time  enough.  Modesty  and  submission,  till  then,  better  fits 
them  for  instruction,  and  therefore  there  needs  not  any  great  care  to  stock  them 
with  confidence  before-hand.  That  which  requires  most  time,  pains,  and  assidu- 
ity, is  to  work  into  them  the  principles  and  practice  of  virtue  and  good  breed- 
ing. This  is  the  seasoning  they  should  be  prepared  with,  so  as  not  easily  to  be 
got  out  again ;  this  they  had  need  to  be  well  provided  with.  For  conversation, 
when  they  come  into  the  world,  will  add  to  their  knowledge  and  assurance,  but 
be  too  apt  to  take  from  their  virtue,  which  therefore  they  ought  to  be  plenti- 
fully stored  with,  and  have  that  tincture  sunk  deep  into  them. 

How  they  should  be  fitted  for  conversation,  and  entered  into  the  world,  when 
they  are  ripe  for  it,  we  shall  consider  in  another  place.  But  how  any  one's 
oeing  put  into  a  mixed  herd  of  unruly  boys,  and  there  learning  to  wrangle  at 
trap,  or  rook  at  span-farthing,  fits  him  for  civil  conversation,  or  business,  I  do 
not  see.  And  what  qualities  are  ordinarily  to  be  got  from  such  a  troop  of  play- 
fellows, as  schools  usually  assemble  together,  from  parents  of  all  kinds,  that  a 
father  should  so  much  covet  it,  is  hard  to  divine.  I  am  sure,  he  who  is  able  to 
be  at  the  charge  of  a  tutor,  at  home,  may  there  give  his  son  a  more  genteel  car- 
riage, more  manly  thoughts,  and  a  sense  of  what  is  worthy  and  becoming,  with 
a  greater  proficiency  in  learning  into  the  bargain,  and  ripen  him  up  sooner  into 
a  man,  than  any  at  school  can  do.  Not  that  I  blame  the  schoolmaster  in  this, 
or  think  it  to  be  laid  to  his  charge.  The  difference  is  great  between  two  or 
three  pupils  in  the  same  house,  and  three  or  fourscore  boys  lodged  up  and 
down.  For,  let  the  master's  industry  and  skill  be  ever  so  great,  it  is  impossible 
be  should  have  fifty  or  an  hundred  scholars  under  his  eye,  any  longer  than 
they  are  in  the  school  together ;  nor  can  it  be  expected,  that  he  should  instruct 
them  successfully  in  anything  but  their  books ;  the  forming  of  their  minds  and 
manners  requiring  a  constant  attention,  and  particular  application  to  every  single 
boy,  which  is  impossible  in  a  numerous  flock,  and  would  be  wholly  in  vain, 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  255 

(could  he  have  time  to  study  and  correct  every  one's  particular  defects  and 
wrong  inclinations,)  when  the  lad  was  to  be  left  to  himself,  or  the  prevailing 
infection  of  his  fellows,  the  greatest  part  of  the  four-and-twenty  hours. 

But  fathers,  observing  that  fortune  is  often  most  successfully  courted  by  bold 
and  bustling  men,  are  glad  to  see  their  sons  pert  and  forward  betimes,  take  it 
for  a  happy  omen,  that  they  will  be  thriving  men,  and  look  on  the  tricks  they 
play  their  school-fellows,  or  learn  from  them,  as  a  proficiency  in  the  art  of  liv- 
ing and  making  their  way  through  the  world.  But  I  must  take  the  liberty  to 
say,  that  he  that  lays  the  foundation  of  his  son's  fortune  in  virtue  and  good 
breeding,  takes  the  only  sure  and  warrantable  way.  And  it  is  not  the  wag- 
geries or  cheats  practiced  among  school-boys,  it  is  not  their  roughness  one  to 
another,  nor  the  well-laid  plots  of  robbing  an  orchard  together,  that  makes  an 
able  man ;  but  the  principles  of  justice,  generosity,  and  sobriety,  joined  with 
observation  and  industry,  qualities  which  I  judge  school-boys  do  not  learn  much 
of  one  another.  And  if  a  young  gentleman,  bred  at  home,  be  not  taught  more 
of  them,  than  he  could  learn  at  school,  his  father  has  made  a  very  ill  choice  of 
a  tutor.  Take  a  boy  from  the  top  of  a  grammar-school,  and  one  of  the  same 
age,  bred  as  he  should  be  in  his  father's  family,  and  bring  them  into  good  com- 
pany together,  and  then  see  which  of  the  two  will  have  the  more  manly  car- 
riage, and  address  himself  with  the  more  becoming  assurance  to  strangers. 
Here,  I  imagine,  the  school-boy's  confidence  will  either  fail  or  discredit  him; 
and  if  it  be  such  as  fits  him  only  for  the  conversation  of  boys,  he  had  better  be 
without  it. 

VICE.  • 

Vice,  if  we  may  believe  the  general  complaint,  ripens  so  fast  now-a-days,  and 
runs  up  to  seed  so  early  in  young  people,  that  it  is  impossible  to  keep  a  lad 
from  the  spreading  contagion,  if  you  will  venture  him  abroad  in  the  herd,  and 
trust  to  chance,  or  his  own  inclination,  for  the  choice  of  his  company  at  school. 
By  what  fate  vice  has  so  thriven  amongst  us  these  few  years  past,  and  by  what 
hands  it  has  been  nursed  up  into  so  uncontrolled  a  dominion,  I  shall  leave  to 
others  to  inquire.  I  wish  that  those  who  complain  of  the  great  decay  of  Chris- 
tian piety  and  virtue  everywhere,  and  of  learning  and  acquired  improvements 
in  the  gentry  of  this  generation,  would  consider  how  to  retrieve  them  in  the 
next.  This  I  am  sure,  that,  if  the  foundation  of  it  be  not  laid  in  the  education 
and  principling  of  the  youth,  all  other  endeavors  will  be  in  vain.  And  if  the 
innocence,  sobriety,  and  industry  of  those  who  are  coming  up,  be  not  taken  care 
of  and  preserved,  it  will  be  ridiculous  to  expect,  that  those  who  are  to  succeed 
next  on  the  stage,  should  abound  in  that  virtue,  ability,  and  learning,  which  has 
hitherto  made  England  considerable  in  the  world.  I  was  going  to  add  courage 
too,  though  it  has  been  looked  on  as  the  natural  inheritance  of  Englishmen. 
What  has  been  talked  of  some  late  actions  at  sea,  of  a  kind  unknown  to  our 
ancestors,  gives  me  occasion  to  say,  that  debauchery  sinks  the  courage  of  men  ; 
and  when  dissoluteness  has  eaten  out  the  sense  of  true  honor,  bravery  seldom 
stays  long  after  it.  And  I  think  it  impossible  to  find  an  instance  of  any  nation, 
however  renowned  for  their  valor,  who  ever  kept  their  credit  in  arms,  or  made 
themselves  redoubtable  amongst  their  neighbors,  after  corruption  had  once 
broke  through,  and  dissolved  the  restraint  of  discipline,  and  vice  was  grown  to 
such  a  head  that  it  durst  show  itself  barefaced,  without  being  out  of  counte- 
nance. 


256  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION 

VIRTUE. 

It  is  virtue,  then,  direct  virtue,  wliich  is  the  hard  and  valuable  part  to  be 
aimed  at  in  education,  and  not  a  forward  pertness,  or  any  little  arts  of  shifting. 
All  other  considerations  and  accomplishments  should  give  way,  and  be  post- 
■poned,  to  this.  This  is  the  solid  and  substantial  good,  which  tutors  should  not 
only  read  lectures,  and  talk  of;  but  the  labor  and  art  of  education  should  fur- 
nish the  mind  witli,  and  fasten  there,  and  never  cease  till  the  young  man  had  a 
true  relish  of  it,  and  placed  his  strength,  his  glory,  and  his  pleasure  in  it. 

PRIVATE    EDUCATION. 

The  more  this  advances,  the  easier  way  will  be  made  for  other  accomplish- 
ments in  their  turns.  For  he  that  is  brought  to  submit  to  virtue,  will  not  be 
refractory,  or  resty,  in  anything  that  becomes  him.  And,  therefore,  I  can  not 
but  prefer  breeding  of  a  young  gentleman  at  home  in  his  father's  sight,  under  a 
good  governor,  as  much  the  best  and  safest  way  to  this  great  and  main  end  of 
education,  when  it  can  be  had,  and  is  ordered  as  it  should  be.  Gentlemen's 
houses  are  seldom  without  variety  of  company ;  they  should  use  their  sons  to 
all  the  strange  faces  that  come  there,  and  engage  them  in  conversation  with 
men  of  parts  and  breeding,  as  soon  as  they  are  capable  of  it.  And  why  those 
who  live  in  Ihe  country,  should  not  take  them  with  them,  when  they  make 
visits  of  civility  to  their  neighbors,  I  know  not ;  this  I  am  sure,  a  father  thai 
breeds  his  sou  at  home,  has  the  opportunity  to  have  him  more  in  his  own  com- 
pany, and  there  give  him  what  encouragement  he  thinks  fit,  and  can  keep  him 
better  from  the  taint  of  servants,  and  the  meaner  sort  of  people,  than  is  possible 
to  be  done  abioad.  But  what  shall  be  resolved  in  the  case,  must  in  great  meas- 
ure be  left  to  the  parents,  to  be  determined  by  their  circumstances  and  conven- 
iences. Only  1  think  it  the  worst  sort  of  good  husbandry  for  a  father  not  to 
strain  himself  a  little  for  his  son's  breeding,  which,  let  his  condition  be  what  it 
wOl,  is  the  best  portion  he  can  leave  him.  But  if,  after  all,  it  shall  be  thought 
by  some,  that  the  breeding  at  home  has  too  little  company,  and  that  at  ordinary 
schools  not  such  as  it  should  be  for  a  young  gentleman,  I  think  there  might  be 
ways  found  out  to  avoid  the  inconveniences  on  the  one  side  and  the  other. 

EXAMPLE. 

65.  Having  under  consideration  how  great  the  influence  of  company  is, 
and  how  prone  we  are  all,  especially  children,  to  imitation ;  I  must  here  take  the 
liberty  to  mind  parents  of  this  one  thing,  viz.,  that  he  that  will  have  his  son 
have  a  respect  for  him  and  his  orders,  must  himself  have  a  great  reverence  for 
his  son.  "  Maxima  debetur  pueris  reverentia."  You  must  do  nothing  before 
him,  which  you  would  not  have  him  imitate.  If  any  thing  escape  you  which  you 
would  have  pass  for  a  fault  in  him,  he  will  be  sure  to  shelter  himself  under  your 
example,  and  shelter  himself  so,  as  that  it  will  not  be  easy  to  come  at  him  to 
correct  it  in  him  the  right  way.  If  you  punish  him  for  what  he  sees  you  prac- 
tice yourself,  he  will  not  think  that  severity  to  proceed  from  kindness  in  you, 
or  carefulness  to  amend  a  fault  in  him  ;  but  will  be  apt  to  interpret  it  the  pee- 
vishness and  arbitrary  imperiousness  of  a  father,  who,  without  any  ground  for 
it,  would  deny  his  son  the  liberty  and  pleasure  he  takes  himself.  Or,  if  you 
assume  to  yourgelf  the  liberty  you  have  taken,  as  a  privilege  belonging  to  riper 
years,  to  wliich  a  child  must  not  aspire,  you  do  but  add  new  force  to  your  exam- 


I.OCKE  ON  EDIJCATION.  257 

pie,  and  recommend  the  action  the  more  powerfully  to  him.  For  i  must 
alwaj's  remember,  that  children  affect  to  be  men  earlier  than  is  thou^  , :  and 
they  love  breeches,  not  for  their  cut  or  ease,  but  because  the  having  them  is  a 
mark  or  a  step  towards  manhood.  What  I  say  of  the  father's  carriage  before 
his  children,  must  extend  itself  to  all  those  who  have  anj-  authority  over  them, 
-or  for  whom  he  would  have  them  have  any  respect. 

PUXISHMEXTS. 

66.  But  to  return  to  the  business  of  rewards  and  punishments.  All  the  ac- 
tions of  childishness,  and  unfashionable  carriage,  and  whatever  time  and  age 
will  of  itself  be  sure  to  reform,  being,  (as  I  have  said,)  exempt  from  the  disci- 
pline of  the  rod,  there  will  not  be  so  much  need  of  beating  children  as  is  gener- 
ally made  use  of.  To  which  if  we  add  learning  to  read,  write,  dance,  foreign 
languages,  &c.,  as  under  the  same  privilege,  there  will  be  but  very  rarely  any 
occasion  for  blows  or  force  in  an  ingenuous  education.  The  right  way  to  teach 
them  to  those  things  is,  to  give  them  a  liking  and  inclination  to  what  you  pro- 
pose to  them  to  be  learned,  and  that  will  engage  their  industry  and  application. 
This  I  think  no  hard  matter  to  do,  if  children  be  handled  as  they  should  be,  and 
the  rewards  and  punishments  above  mentioned  be  carefully  applied,  and  with 
them  these  few  rules  observed  in  the  method  of  instructing  them. 

TASKS. 

67.  1.  None  of  the  things  thej^  are  to  learn  should  ever  be  made  a  burden  to 
them,  or  imposed  on  them  as  a  task.  Whatever  is  so  proposed  presently  becomes 
irksome :  the  mind  takes  an  aversion  to  it,  though  before  it  were  a  thing  of  de- 
light or  indifferency.  Let  a  child  be  but  ordered  to  whip  his  top  at  a  certain 
time  every  day,  whether  he  has  or  has  not  a  mind  to ;  let  this  be  but  required 
of  him  as  a  duty,  wherein  he  must  spend  so  many  hours  morning  and  afternoon, 
and  see  whether  he  will  not  soon  be  weary  of  any  play  at  this  rate.  Is  it  not 
so  with  grown  men?  What  they  do  cheerfully  of  themselves,  do  they  not 
presently  grow  sick  of,  and  can  no  more  endure,  as  soon  as  they  find  it  is  ex- 
pected of  them  as  a  duty  ?  Children  have  as  much  a  mind  to  show  that  they 
are  free,  that  their  own  good  actions  come  from  themselves,  that  they  are  abso- 
lute and  independent,  as  any  of  the  proudest  of  you  grown  men,  think  of  them 
as  you  please. 

DISPOSITIOX. 

68.  2.  As  a  consequence  of  this,  they  should  seldom  be  put  about  doing  even 
those  things  you  have  got  an  inclination  in  them  to,  but  when  they  have  a  mind 
and  disposition  to  it.  He  that  loves  reading,  writing,  music,  &c.,  finds  yet  in 
himself  certain  seasons  wherein  those  things  have  no  relish  to  him  :  and,  if  at 
that  time  he  forces  himself  to  it,  he  only  pothers  and  wearies  himself  to  no  pur- 
pose. So  it  is  with  children.  This  change  of  temper  should  be  carefully  ob- 
served in  them,  and  the  favorable  seasons  of  aptitude  and  inclination  be  heed- 
fiilly  laid  hold  of:  and  if  they  are  not  often  enough  forward  of  themselves,  a 
good  disposition  should  be  talked  into  them,  before  they  be  set  upon  any  thing. 
This  I  think  no  hard  matter  for  a  discreet  tutor  to  do,  who  has  studied  his  pupil's 
temper,  and  will  be  at  a  little  pains  to  fill  liis  head  with  suitable  ideas,  such  as 
ma)'  make  him  in  love  with  the  present  business.  By  this  means  a  great  deal 
of  time  and  tiring  would  be  saved :  for  a  child  will  learn  three  times  as  much 
when  he  is  in  tune,  as  he  will  with  double  the  time  and  pains,  when  he  goes 


258  I.OCKE  ON  INDICATION. 

awkwardl}',  or  is  dragged  unwillingly  to  it.  If  this  were  minded  as  it  should, 
children  might  be  permitted  to  wearj-  themselves  with  play,  and  yet  have  time 
enough  to  learn  what  is  suited  to  the  capacity  of  each  age.  But  no  such  thing 
is  considered  in  the  ordinary  way  of  education,  nor  can  it  well  be.  That  rough 
discipline  of  the  rod  is  buUt  upon  other  principles,  has  no  attraction  in  it,  regards 
not  what  humour  children  are  in,  nor  looks  after  favorable  seasons  of  inclina- 
tion. And  indeed  it  would  be  rediculous,  when  compulsion  and  blows  have 
raised  an  aversion  in  the  child  to  his  task,  to  expect  he  should  freely  of  his 
own  accord  leave  his  play,  and  with  pleasure  court  the  occasions  of  learning: 
whereas,  were  matters  ordered  right,  learning  any  thing  they  should  be  taught 
might  be  made  as  much  a  recreation  to  their  play,  as  their  play  is  to  their  learn- 
ing. The  pains  are  equal  on  both  sides :  nor  is  it  that  which  troubles  them ; 
for  they  love  to  be  busy,  and  the  change  and  variety  is  that  which  naturally 
delights  them.  The  only  odds  is,  in  that  which  we  call  play  thej'  act  at  liberty, 
and  employ  their  pains,  (whereof  you  may  observe  them  never  sparing,)  freely; 
but  what  they  arc  to  learn,  is  forced  upon  them ;  they  are  called,  compelled, 
and  driven  to  it.  This  is  that  which  at  first  entrance  balks  and  cools  them; 
they  want  their  liberty :  get  them  but  to  ask  their  tutor  to  teach  them,  as  they 
do  often  their  play-fellows,  instead  of  his  calling  upon  them  to  learn  ;  and  they 
being  satisfied  that  they  act  as  freely  in  this  as  they  do  in  other  things,  they 
will  go  on  with  as  much  pleasure  in  it,  and  it  will  not  differ  from  their  other 
sports  and  pla3^  By  these  waj^s,  carefully  pursued,  a  child  may  be  brought  to 
desire  to  be  taught  any  thing  you  have  a  mind  he  should  learn.  The  hardest 
part,  I  confess,  is  with  the  first  or  eldest;  but  when  once  he  is  set  aright,  it  is 
easy  by  him  to  lead  the  rest  whither  one  will. 

69.  Though  it  be  past  doubt,  that  the  fittest  time  for  children  to  learn  any 
thing  is  when  their  minds  are  in  tune,  and  well  disposed  to  it ;  when  neither 
flagging  of  spirit,  nor  intentness  of  thought  upon  something  else,  makes  them 
awkward  and  averse;  }'et  two  things  are  to  be  taken  care  of:  1.  that  these  sea- 
sons either  not  being  warily  observed,  and  laid  hold  on,  as  often  as  they  return ; 
or  else  not  returning  as  often  as  they  should;  the  improvement  of  the  child  be 
not  thereby  neglected,  and  so  he  be  let  grow  into  an  habitual  idleness,  and  con- 
firmed in  this  indisposition.  2.  That  though  other  things  are  ill  learned  when 
the  mind  is  either  indi.'^posed,  or  otherwise  taken  up;  yet  it  is  of  great  moment, 
and  worth  our  endeavors,  to  teach  the  mind  to  get  the  mastery  over  itself;  and 
to  be  able,  upon  choice,  to  take  itself  off  from  the  hot  pursuit  of  one  thing,  and 
set  itself  upon  another,  with  facility  and  delight;  or  at  any  time  to  shake  off 
its  .sluggishness,  and  vigorously  employ  itself  about  what  reason,  or  the  advice 
of  another,  shall  direct.  This  is  to  be  done  in  children,  by  trying  them  some- 
times, when  they  are  by  laziness  unbent,  or  b}'  avocation  bent  another  way, 
and  endeavoring  to  make  them  buckle  to  the  thing  proposed.  If  by  this  means 
the  mind  can  get  an  habitual  dominion  over  itself^  lay  by  ideas  or  busines.s,  as 
occasion  requires,  and  betake  itself  to  new  and  less  acceptable  employments 
without  reluctancy  or  discomposure,  it  will  be  an  advantage  of  more  conse- 
quence than  Latin  or  logic,  or  most  of  those  things  children  are  usually  re- 
quired to  learn. 

COMPULSION'. 

70.  Children  being  more  active  and  busy  in  that  age  than  in  any  other  part 
of  their  life,  and  being  indifferent  to  any  thing  tliey  can  do,  so  they  may  be  bui 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION  259 

doing;  dancing  and  scotch-lioppers  would  be  tlie  same  tiling  to  iIiltu,  wi  ri'  the 
encouragements  and  discouragements  equal.  But  to  things  we  would  have 
them  learn,  the  great  and  only  discouragement  I  can  observe  is,  that  they  are 
called  to  it ;  it  is  made  their  business ;  they  are  teased  and  chid  about  it,  and 
do  it  with  trembling  and  apprehension ;  or,  when  they  come  willingly  to  it,  are 
Kept  too  long  at  it,  till  they  are  quite  tired ;  all  which  entrenches  too  much  on 
that  natural  freedom  they  extremely  affect.  And  it  is  that  liberty  alone,  whiclv 
gives  the  true  relish  and  delight  to  their  ordinary  play  games.  Turn  the  tables, 
and  you  will  find,  they  will  soon  change  their  application ;  especially  if  they  see- 
the examples  of  others,  whom  they  esteem  and  think  above  themselves.  And 
if  the  tilings  which  they  observe  others  to  do,  be  ordered  so  that  they  insinuate 
themselves  into  them,  as  the  privilege  of  an  age  or  condition  above  theirs ;  then 
ambition  and  the  desire  still  to  get  forward,  and  higher,  and  to  be  like  those 
above  them,  will  set  them  on  work,  and  make  them  go  on  with  vigor  and 
pleasure ;  pleasure  in  what  they  have  begun  by  their  own  desire.  In  which 
way  the  enjoyment  of  their  dearly  beloved  freedom  will  be  no  small  encourage- 
ment to  them.  To  all  of  which,  if  there  be  added  the  satisfaction  of  credit  and 
reputation,  1  am  apt  to  think  there  will  need  no  other  spur  to  excite  their  ap- 
phcation  and  assiduity,  as  much  as  is  necessary.  I  confess,  there  needs  patience 
and  skill,  gentleness  and  attention,  and  a  prudent  conduct,  to  attain  this  at  first. 
But  why  have  you  a  tutor,  if  there  needed  no  pains  ?  But  when  this  is  once 
established,  all  the  rest  will  follow  more  easily  than  in  any  more  severe  and 
imperious  discipline.  And  I  think  it  no  hard  matter  to  gain  this  point;  I  am 
sure  it  will  not  be,  where  children  have  no  ill  examples  set  before  them.  Tlic 
great  danger  therefore  I  apprehend  is  only  from  servants,  and  other  ill-ordered 
children,  or  such  other  vicious  or  foolish  people,  who  spoil  children,  both  by  the 
ill  pattern  they  set  before  them  in  their  own  ill  manners,  and  by  giving  them 
together  the  two  things  they  should  never  have  at  once ;  I  mean,  vicious  pleas- 
ures and  commendation. 


CHIDING. 

71.  As  children  should  very  seldom  be  corrected  by  blows ;  so,  I  think,  fre- 
quent, and  especially  passionate  chiding,  of  almost  as  ill  consequence.  It  les- 
sens the  authority  of  the  parents,  and  the  respect  of  the  child:  for  I  bid  you 
still  remember,  they  distinguish  early  betwixt  passion  and  reason :  and  as  they 
can  not  but  have  a  reverence  for  what  comes  from  the  latter,  so  they  quickly 
grow  into  a  contempt  of  the  former ;  or  if  it  causes  a  present  terror,  yet  it  soon 
wears  off:  and  natural  inclination  will  easily  learn  to  slight  such  scarecrows, 
which  make  a  noise,  but  are  not  animated  by  reason.  Children  being  to  be 
restrained  by  the  parents  only  in  vicious  (which  in  their  tender  years,  are  only 
a  few,)  things,  a  look  or  nod  only  ought  to  correct  them,  when  they  do  amiss: 
or,  if  words  are  sometimes  to  be  used,  they  ought  to  be  grave,  kind  and  sober, 
representing  the  ill,  or  unbecomingness  of  the  faults,  rather  than  a  hasty  rating 
of  the  child  for  it,  which  makes  him  not  sufSciently  distinguish  whether  your 
dislike  be  not  more  directed  to  him  than  his  fault.  Passionate  chiding  usually 
carries  rough  and  ill  language  with  it,  which  has  this  further  ill  effect,  that  it 
teaches  and  justifies  it  in  children :  and  tho  names  that  their  parents  qj-  pre- 
ceptors give  them,  they  will  not  be  ashamed  or  backward  to  bestow  on  others, 
having  so  good  autiiority  for  tlie  use  of  them. 


260  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION 


72.  I  foresee  here  it  will  be  objected  to  me:  what  then,  will  you  have  children 
never  l)eaten,  nor  chid,  for  any  fault  ?  this  will  be  to  let  loose  the  reins  to  all 
kinds  of  disorder.  Not  so  much  as  is  imagined,  if  a  right  course  has  been 
taken  in  the  first  seasoning  of  their  minds,  and  implanting  that  awe  of  their 
parents  above-mentioned.  For  beating,  by  constant  observation,  is  found  to  do 
little  good,  where  the  smart  of  it  is  all  the  punishment  is  feared  or  felt  in  it; 
for  the  influence  of  that  quicklj^  wears  out  with  the  memory  of  it.  But  yet 
there  is  one,  and  but  one  fault,  for  which  I  think  children  should  be  beaten ; 
and  that  is  obstinacy  or  rebellion.  And  in  this  too  I  would  have  it  ordered  so, 
if  it  can  be,  that  the  shame  of  the  whipping,  and  not  the  pain,  should  be  the 
greatest  part  of  the  punishment.  Shame  of  doing  amiss,  and  deserving  chas- 
tisement, is  the  only  true  restraint  belonging  to  virtue.  The  smart  of  the  rod, 
if  shame  accompanies  it  not,  soon  ceases,  and  is  forgotten,  and  will  quickly,  by 
use,  loose  its  terror.  I  have  known  the  children  of  a  person  of  quality  kept  in 
awe,  by  the  fear  of  having  their  shoes  pulled  off,  as  much  as  others  by  appre- 
hensions of  a  rod  hanging  over  them.  Some  such  punishment  I  think  better 
than  beating;  for  it  is  shame  of  the  fault,  and  the  disgrace  that  attends  it,  that 
the)'  should  stand  in  fear  ofj  rather  than  pain,  if  you  would  have  them  have  a 
temper  truly  ingenuous.  But  stubbornness,  and  an  obstinate  disobedience, 
must  be  mastered  with  a  force  and  blows :  for  this  there  is  no  other  remedy. 
Whatever  particular  action  you  bid  him  do,  or  forbear,  you  must  be  sure  to  see 
yourself  obeyed;  no  quarter,  in  this  case,  no  resistance.  For  when  once  it 
•comes  to  be  a  trial  of  skill,  a  contest  for  mastery  betwixt  you,  as  it  is,  if  you 
■command,  and  he  refuses ;  you  must  be  sure  to  carry  it,  whatever  blows  it 
■costs,  if  a  nod  or  words  wiU  not  prevail ;  unless,  for  ever  after,  you  intend  to 
live  in  obedience  to  your  son.  A  prudent  and  kind  mother,  of  my  acquaint- 
ance, was,  on  such  an  occasion,  forced  to  whip  her  little  daughter,  at  her  first 
coming  home  from  nurse,  eight  times  successively,  the  same  morning,  before 
she  could  master  her  stubbornness,  and  obtain  a  compliance  in  a  very  easy  and 
indill'erent  matter.  If  she  had  left  off  sooner,  and  stopped  at  the  seventh 
whipping,  she  had  spoiled  the  child  forever ;  and,  by  her  unprevailmg  blows, 
only  confirmed  her  refractoriness,  very  hardly  afterwards  to  be  cured:  but 
wisely  persisting,  till  she  had  bent  her  mind,  and  suppled  .her  will,  the  only  end 
of  correction  and  chastisement,  she  established  her  authority  thoroughly  in  the 
-very  first  occasions,  and  had  ever  after  a  very  ready  compliance  and  obedience 
in  all  things  from  her  daughter.  For,  as  this  was  the  first  time,  so,  I  think,  it 
was  the  last  too  she  ever  struck  her. 

The  pain  of  the  rod,  the  first  occasion  that  requires  it,  continued  and  increas- 
ed without  leaving  off,  till  it  has  thoroughly  prevailed,  should  first  bend  the 
mind  and  settle  the  parent's  authority;  and  then  gravity,  mixed  with  kindness 
should  for  ever  after  keep  it. 

This,  if  well  reflected  on,  would  make  people  more  wary  in  the  use  of  the 
rod  and  the  cudgel ;  and  keep  them  from  being  so  apt  to  think  beating  the  safe 
and  universal  remedy,  to  be  applied  at  random,  on  all  occasions.  This  is  cer- 
tain, however,  if  it  does  no  good,  it  does  great  harm ;  if  it  reaches  not  the 
mind,  and  makes  not  the  will  supple,  it  hardens  the  oSender ;  and,  whatever 
pains  it  has  suSered  for  it,  it  does  but  endear  to  him  his  beloved  stubbornness, 
•which  has  got  him  this  timp  the  \'ictory,  and  prepares  him  to  contest  and  hope 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  261 

for  it  for  the  future.  Thus,  I  doubt  not,  but  by  ill-ordered  correction,  many  have 
been  taught  to  be  obstinate  and  refractory,  who  otherwise  would  have  been  very 
pliant  and  tractable.  For,  if  you  punish  a  child  so,  as  if  it  were  only  to  revenge 
the  past  fault,  which  has  raised  your  choler:  what  operation  can  this  have  upon 
his  mind,  which  is  the  part  to  be  amended  ?  If  there  were  no  sturdy  humor 
or  willfulness  mixed  with  his  fault,  there  was  nothing  in  it  that  required  the 
severity  of  blows.  A  kind  of  grave  admonition  is  enough  to  remedy  the  slips 
of  frailty,  forgetfulness,  or  inadvertency,  and  is  as  much  as  they  will  stand  in 
need  of  But,  if  there  were  a  perversene^s  in  the  will,  if  it  were  a  designed, 
resolved  disobedience,  the  punishment  is  not  to  be  measured  by  the  greatness 
or  smallness  of  the  matter  wherein  it  appeared,  but  by  the  opposition  it  carries, 
and  stands  in,  to  that  respect  and  submission  that  is  due  to  the  father's  orders ; 
which  must  always  be  rigorously  exacted,  and  the  blows  by  pauses  laid  on,  till 
they  reach  the  mind,  and  you  perceive  the  signs  of  a  true  sorrow,  shame,  and 
purpose  of  obedience. 

This,  I  confess,  requires  something  more  than  setting  children  a  task,  and 
whipping  them  without  any  more  ado,  if  it  be  not  done,  and  done  to  our  fancy. 
This  requires  care,  attention,  observation,  and.  a  nice  study  of  children's  tem- 
pers, and  weighing  their  faults  well,  before  we  come  to  this  sort  of  punishment. 
But  is  not  that  better  than  always  to  have  a  rod  in  hand,  as  the  only  instru- 
ment of  government ;  and,  by  frequent  use  of  it  on  all  occasions,  misapply  and 
render  inefficacious  this  last  and  useful  remedy,  where  there  is  need  of  it  ? 
For  what  else  can  be  expected,  when  it  is  promiscuously  used  upon  every  little 
slip  ?  When  a  mistake  in  concordance,  or  a  wrong  position  in  verse,  shall  have 
the  severity  of  the  lash,  in  a  well-tempered  and  industrious  lad,  as  surely  as  a 
willful  crime  in  an  obstinate  and  perverse  offender ;  how  can  such  a  way  of  cor- 
rection be  expected  to  do  good  on  the  mind,  and  set  that  right,  which  is  the 
only  thing  to  be  looked  after?  and,  when  set  right,  brings  all  the  rest  that  ytm 
can  desire  along  with  it. 

73.  "Where  a  wrong  bent  of  the  will  wants  not  amendment,  there  can  be  no 
need  of  blows.  All  other  faults,  where  the  mind  is  rightly  disposed,  and  refuses 
not  the  government  and  authority  of  the  father  or  tutor,  are  but. mistakes,  and 
often  be  over  looked :  or,  when  they  a'-o  tak-"n  notice  of,  need  no  other  but  the 
gentle  remedies  of  advice,  direction,  and  reproof;  till  the  repeated  and  willful 
neglect  of  these  shows  the  fault  to  be  in  the  mind,  and  that  a  manifest  per- 
verseness  of  the  will  lies  at  the  root  of  their  disobedience.  But  whenever  ob- 
stinacy, which  is  an  open  defiance,  appears,  that  can  not  be  winked  at,  or  neg- 
lected, but  must,  in  the  first  in.stance,  be  subdued  and  mastered  ;  only  care  must 
be  had  that  we  mistake  not,  and  we  must  be  sure  it  is  obstinac3^  and  nothing 
else. 

74.  But  since  the  occasions  of  punishment,  cspeciallj^  beating,  are  as  niui.li 
to  be  avoided  as  may  be,  I  think  it  should  not  be  often  brought  to  this  point. 
If  the  awe  I  spoke  of  be  once  got,  a  look  will  be  sufficient  in  most  cases.  Nor 
indeed  should  be  the  same  carriage,  seriousness,  or  application  be  expected 
from  young  children,  as  from  those  of  riper  growth.  They  must  be  permitted, 
as  I  said,  the  foolish  and  childish  actions  suitable  to  their  years,  without  taking 
notice  of  them;  inadvertency,  carelessness,  and  gaiety,  is  the  character  of  (hat 
age.  I  think  the  severitj'  I  spoke  of  is  not  to  extend  itself  to  sucl;  unseasona- 
ble restraints;  nor  is  that  Jiastily  to  be  interpreted  obstinacy  or  willfulness, 
which  is  the  natural  jjnidii'';  o:'  iln-  r  a.^e  or  temper.     In  such  miscarriages  they 


•262  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

ar3  to  be  assisted,  and  helped  towards  an  amendment,  as  weak  people  under  a 
Datur&l  'jfirmity ;  which,  though  they  are  warned  of,  yet  every  relapse  must 
not  be  counted  a  perfect  neglect,  and  they  presently  treated  as  obstinate. 
Faults  of  frailty,  as  they  should  never  be  neglected,  or  let  pass  without  mind- 
ing ;  so,  unless  the  will  mixed  with  them,  they  should  never  be  exaggerated,  or 
very  sharpl}^  reproved;  but  with  a  gentle  hand  set  right,  as  time  and  age  per- 
mit. By  this  means,  children  will  come  to  see  what  is  in  any  miscarriage  that 
is  chiefl)^  oft'ensive,  and  so  learn  to  avoid  it.  This  will  encourage  them  to  keep 
their  wills  right,  which  is  the  great  business:  when  the}'  find  that  it  preserves 
them  from  any  great  displeasure;  and  that  in  all  their  other  failings  they  meet 
with  the  kind  concern  and  help,  rather  than  the  anger  and  passionate  reproach- 
es, of  their  tutor  and  parents.  Keep  them  from  vice,  and  vicious  dispositions, 
and  such  a  kind  of  behavior  in  general  will  come,  with  every  degree  of  their  age, 
as  is  suitable  to  that  age,  and  the  compau}'  they  ordinarily  converse  with  :  and 
as  they  grow  in  years,  they  will  grow  in  attention  and  application.  But  that 
your  words  may  always  carry  weight  and  authority  with  them,  if  it  shall  hap- 
pen upon  an}-  occasion,  that  you  bid  him  leave  off  the  doing  of  any  even  child- 
ish things,  you  must  be  sure  t6  carry  the  point,  and  not  let  him  have  the  mas- 
tery. But  yet,  I  say,  I  would  have  the  father  seldom  interpose  his  authority 
and  command  in  these  cases,  or  in  any  other,  but  such  as  have  a  tendency  to 
vicious  habits.  I  think  there  are  better  ways  of  prevailing  with  them  ;  and  a 
gentle  persuasion  in  reasoning,  (when  the  first  point  of  submission  to  your  will  ^ 
is  got,)  will  most  times  do  much  better. 

REASONING. 

75.  It  will  perhaps  be  wondered,  that  I  mention  reasoning  with  children: 
and  yet  I  can  not  but  think  that  the  true  way  of  dealing  with  them.  They 
understand  it  as  early  as  they  do  language ;  and  if  I  mis  observe  not,  they  love 
to  be  treated  as  rational  creatures  sooner  than  is  imagined.  It  is  a  pride  should 
be  cherished  in  them,  and,  as  much  as  can  be,  made  the  greatest  instrument  to 
turn  them  by. 

But  when  I  talk  of  reasoning,  I  do  not  intend  any  other  but  such  as  is  suited 
to  the  child's  capacity  and  apprehension.  Nobody  can  think  a  boy  of  three  or 
seven  years  old  should  be  argued  with  as  a  grown  man.  Long  discourses,  and 
philosophical  reasonings,  at  best  amaze  and  confound,  but  do  not  instruct,  chil- 
dren. When  I  say,  therefore,  that  they  must  be  treated  as  rational  creatures,  I 
mean,  that  you  should  make  them  sensible,  by  the  mildness  of  your  carriage, 
and  the  composure,  even  in  your  correction  of  them,  that  what  you  do  is 
reasonable  in  you,  and  useful  and  necessary  for  them;  and  that  it  is  not  out  of 
caprice,  passion,  or  fancy,  that  you  command  or  forbid  them  any  thing.  This 
they  are  capable  of  understanding;  and  there  ia  no  virtue  they  should  be  ex- 
cited to,  nor  fault  they  should  be  kept  from,  which  I  do  not  think  they  may  be 
convinced  of:  but  it  must  be  by  such  reasons  as  their  age  and  understanding 
are  capable  ofj  and  those  proposed  always  in  very  few  and  plain  words.  The 
foundations  on  which  several  duties  are  built,  and  the  fountains  of  right  and 
wrong,  from  which  they  spring,  are  not,  perhaps,  easily  to  be  let  into  the  minds 
of  grown  men,  not  used  to  abstract  their  thoughts  from  common  received 
opinions.  Much  less  are  children  capable  of  reasonings  from  remote  principles. 
They  can  not  conceive  the  force  of  long  deductions:  the  reasons  that  move 


LOCKE  ON  EUTUA  IION.  363 

them  must  be  obvious,  and  level  to  their  thoughts,  and  such  as  may,  (if  I  may 
so  say,)  be  felt  and  touched.  But  yet,  if  their  age,  temper,  and  inclinations  be 
■considered,  thej^  will  never  want  such  motives  as  may  be  sufficient  to  convince 
them.  If  there  be  no  other  more  particular,  yet  these  will  always  be  intelligible, 
and  of  force,  to  deter  them  from  any  fault  fit  to  be  taken  notice  of  in  them,  viz. 
that  it  will  be  a  discredit  and  disgrace  to  them,  and  displease  you. 

EXAMPLES. 

76.  But.  of  all  the  ways  whereby  children  are  to  be  instructed,  and  their 
manners  formed,  the  plainest,  easiest,  and  most  efficacious,  is  to  set  before  their 
eyes  the  examples  of  those  things  you  would  have  them  do  or  avoid.  Which, 
when  they  are  pointed  out  to  them,  in  the  practice  of  persons  within  their 
knowledge,  with  some  reflections  on  their  beauty  or  uulx-comingness,  are  of 
more  force  to  draw  or  deter  their  imitation  than  any  discuurses  which  can  be 
made  to  them.  Virtues  and  vices  can  by  no  words  be  so  plainly  set  before 
their  understandings  as  the  actions  of  other  men  will  show  them,  when  you 
direct  tlieir  observation,  and  bid  them  view  this  or  that  good  or  bad  quality  in 
their  practice.  And  the  beauty  or  uncomeliness  of  many  things,  in  good  and  ill 
breeding,  will  be  better  learnt,  and  make  deeper  impressions,  on  them,  in  the 
examples  of  others,  than  from  any  rules  or  instructions  can  be  given  about 
them. 

This  is  a  method  to  be  used,  not  only  whilst  they  are  young;  but  to  be  con- 
tinued, even  as  long  as  they  shall  be  under  another's  tuition  or  conduct.  Nay, 
I  know  not  whether  it  be  not  the  best  way  to  be  used  by  a  father,  as  long  as  he 
shall  think  fit,  on  any  occasion,  to  reform  any  thing  he  wishes  mended  in  his 
son ;  nothing  sinking  so  gently,  and  so  deep,  into  men's  minds,  as  example. 
And  what  ill  they  either  overlook,  or  indulge  in  themselves,  they  can  not  but 
dislike,  and  be  ashamed  of,  when  it  is  set  before  them  in  another. 

WHIPPING. 

77.  It  may  be  doubted  concerning  whipping,  when,  as  the  last  remedy,  it 
comes  to  be  necessary  ;  at  what  times,  and  by  whom  it  should  be  done :  whether 
presently  upon  the  committing  the  fault,  whilst  it  is  yet  fresh  and  hot  •  and 
whether  parents  themselves  should  beat  their  children.  As  to  the  first  •  I 
think  it  should  not  be  done  presently,  lest  passion  mingle  with  it ;  and  so 
though  it  exceed  the  just  proportion,  yet  it  loses  of  its  due  weight :  for  even 
children  discern  when  we  do  things  in  passion.  But,  as  I  said  before,  that  has 
most  weight  with  them,  that  appears  sedately  to  come  from  their  parents'  rea- 
son ;  and  they  are  not  without  this  distinction.  Next,  if  you  have  any  discreet 
servant  capable  of  it,  and  has  the  place  of  governing  your  child,  (lor  if  you 
have  a  tutor,  there  is  no  doubt,)  I  think  it  is  best  the  smart  should  come  more 
immediately  from  another's  hand,  though  by  the  parent's  order,  who  should  see 
it  done ;  whereby  the  parent's  authority  will  be  preserved,  and  the  child's  aver- 
sion, for  the  pain  it  suffers,  rather  be  turned  on  the  person  that  immediately  in- 
flicts it.  For  I  would  have  a  father  seldom  strike  his  child,  but  upon  very 
urgent  necessity,  and  as  the  last  remedy :  and  then  perhaps  it  will  be  fit  to 
do  it  so  that  the  child  should  not  cjuickly  forget  it. 

78.  But,   as   I   said   before,  beating   is   the  worst,   and  therefore  the  last, 
means  to  be  used  in   the  correction  of  children ;    and  that  only  in  cases  of 


264  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

extremitj',  after  all  gentler  ways  have  been  tried,  and  proved  unsuccessful 
which,  if  well  observed,  there  will  be  very  seldom  any  need  of  blows.  For, 
it  not  being  to  be  imagined  that  a  child  will  often,  if  ever,  dispute  his 
father's  present  command  in  any  particular  instance ;  and  the  father  not  inter- 
posing his  absolute  authority,  in  peremptory  rules,  concerning  either  childish 
or  indilTcrent  actions,  wherein  his  son  is  to  have  his  liberty ;  or  concerning 
his  learning  or  improvement,  wherein  there  is  no  compulsion  to  be  used; 
there  remains  only  the  prohibition  of  some  vicious  actions,  wherein  a  child 
Ls  copable  of  obstinacy,  and  consequently  can  deserve  beating:  and  so  there- 
will  be  but  very  few  occasions  of  that  discipline  to  be  used  by  any  one,  who 
considers  well,  and  orders  his  child's  education  as  it  should  be.  For  the  first 
seven  years,  what  vices  can  a  child  be  guilty  of,  but  lying,  or  some  ill-natured 
tricks;  the  repeated  commission  whereof,  after  his  father's  direct  command 
against  it,  shall  bring  him  into  the  condemnation  of  obstinacj',  and  the  chas- 
tisement of  the  rod  ?  If  any  vicious  inchnation  in  him  be,  in  the  first  appear- 
ance and  instances  of  it,  treated  as  it  should  be,  first  with  your  wonder;  and 
then  if  returning  again  a  second  time,  discountenanced  with  the  severe  brow 
of  the  father,  tutor,  and  all  about  him,  and  a  treatment  suitable  to  the  state  of 
discredit  before  mentioned;  and  this  continued  till  he  be  made  sensible  and 
ashamed  of  his  fault ;  I  imagine  there  will  be  no  need  of  any  other  correction, 
nor  ever  any  occasion  to  come  to  blows.  The  necessity  of  sucli  chastisement 
is  usually  the  consequence  only  of  former  indulgences  or  neglects.  If  vicious 
inclinations  were  watched  from  the  beginning,  and  the  first  irregularities  which 
they  caused  corrected  by  those  gentle  ways,  we  should  seldom  have  to  do  with 
more  than  one  disorder  at  once :  which  would  be  easily  set  right  without  any 
stir  or  noise,  and  not  require  so  harsh  a  discipline  as  beating.  Thus,  one  by 
one,  as  they  appeared,  they  might  all  be  weeded  out,  without  any  signs  or  mem- 
ory that  ever  they  had  been  there.  But  we  letting  their  faults,  (by  indulging 
and  humoring  our  little  ones,)  grow  up,  till  they  are  sturdy  and  numerous, 
and  the  deformity  of  them  makes  us  ashamed  and  uneasy,  we  are  fain  to  come 
to  the  plow  and  the  harrow ;  the  spade  and  the  pick-axe  must  go  deep  to 
come  at  the  roots,  and  all  the  force,  skill,  and  diligence  we  can  use  is  scarce 
enough  to  cleanse  the  vitiated  seed-plat,  overgrown  with  weeds,  and  restore  us 
the  hopes  of  fruits  to  reward  our  pains  in  its  season. 

79.  This  course,  if  observed,  will  spare  both  father  and  child  the  trouble  of 
repeated  injunctions,  and  multiplied  rules  of  doing  and  forbearing.  For  I  am 
of  opinion,  that  of  those  actions  which  tend  to  vicious  habits,  (which  are  those 
alone  that  a  father  sliould  interpose  his  authority''  and  commands  in,)  none  should 
be  forbidden  children  till  they  are  found  guilty  of  them.  For  such  untimely 
prohibitions,  if  they  do  nothing  worse,  do  at  least  so  much  towards  teaching 
and  allowing  them,  that  they  suppose  that  children  may  be  guilty  of  them,  who 
would  possibly  be  safer  in  the  ignorance  of  any  such  faults.  And  the  best 
remedy  to  stop  them,  is,  as  I  have  said,  to  show  wonder  and  amazement  at  any 
such  action  as  hath  a  vicious  tendency,  when  it  is  first  taken  notice  of  in  a 
child.  For  example,  when  he  is  first  found  in  a  lie,  or  any  ill-natured  trick, 
the  first  remedy  should  be,  to  talk  to  him  of  it  as  a  strange  monstrous  matter, 
that  it  could  not  be  imagined  lie  would  have  done;  and  so  shame  liiiii  out  of  it. 

80.  It  will  be,  (it  is  like,)  objected,  that  whatsoever  I  fancy  of  the  tractable-- 
ness  of  children,  and  the  prevalency  of  those  softer  ways  of  shame  and  com- 
mendation ;  yet  there  are  many,  who  will  never  apply  themselves  to  theif 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  365« 

books,  and  to  what  they  ouglit  to  learn,  unless  they  are  sc-ourg-ed  to  it.  This, 
I  fear,  is  nothing  but  the  language  of  ordinary  schools  and  fashion,  which  have 
never  suffered  the  other  to  be  tried  as  it  should  be,  in  places  where  it  could  be 
taken  notice  of  Why,  else,  does  the  learnmg  of  Latin  and  Greek  need  the 
rod,  wiien  French  and  Italian  need  it  not?  Children  learn  to  dance  and  fence 
without  whipping:  nay,  arithmetic,  drawing,  &c.,  they  apply  themselves  well, 
enough  to,  without  beating  ;  which  would  make  one  suspect,  that  there  is  some- 
thing strange,  unnatural,  and  disagreeable  to  that  age  in  the  things  required  in 
grammar-schools,  or  in  the  methods  used  there,  that  children  can  not  be  bro'ight^ 
to,  without  the  severity  of  the  lash,  and  hardly  with  that  too ;  or  else,  that  it 
is  a  mistake  that  those  tongues  could  not  be  taught  them  without  beating. 

81.  But  let  us  suppose  some  so  negligent  or  idle,  that  they  will  not  be  brought 
to  learn  by  the  gentle  ways  proposed,  (for  we  must  grant  that  there  will  be 
children  found  of  all  tempers;)  yet  it  does  not  thence  follow  that  the  roigh- 
discipline  o  '  the  cudgel  is  to  be  used  to  all.  Nor  can  an}'  one  be  concluded  in- 
manageable  by  the  milder  methods  of  government,  till  they  have  been  thor- 
oughly tried  upon  him ;  and,  if  they  will  not  prevail  with  him  to  use  his  en- 
deavors, and  do  what  is  in  his  power  to  do,  we  make  no  excuses  for  the  obnti- 
nate:  blows  are  the  proper  remedies  for  those:  but  blows  laid  on  in  a  way 
different  from  the  ordinary.  He  that  willfully  neglects  his  book,  and  stubborn- 
ly refuses  any  thing  he  can  do,  required  of  him  by  his  father,  expressing  him- 
self in  a  positive  serious  command,  should  not  be  corrected  with  two  or  three 
angry  lashes,  for  not  performing  his  task,  and  the  same  punishment  repeated 
again  and  again,  upon  every  the  like  default :  'but,  when  it  is  brought  to 
that  pass,  that  willfulness  evidentlj-  shows  itself  and  makes  blows  necessary,  I 
think  the  chastisement  should  be  a  little  more  sedate,  and  a  little  more  severe, 
and  the  whipping,  (mingled  with  admonition  between,)  so  continued,  till  the 
impressions  of  it,  on  the  mind,  were  found  legible  in  the  face,  voice,  and  sub- 
mission of  the  child,  not  so  sensible  of  the  smart,  as  of  the  fault  he  has  been 
guilty  of,  and  melting  in  true  sorrow  under  it.  If  such  a  correction  as  this  tried 
some  few  times  at  lit  distances,  and  carried  to  the  utmost  severity,  with  the 
visible  displeasure  of  the  father  all  the  while,  will  not  work  the  effect,  turn  the 
mind,  and  produce  a  future  compliance ;  what  can  be  hoped  from  blows,  and  to 
what  purpose  should  they  be  any  more  used  ?  Beating,  when  j^ou  can  expect 
no  good  from  it,  will  look  more'  like  the  fury  of  an  enraged  enemy  than  the 
good-will  of  a  compassionate  friend ;  and  such  chastisement  carries  with  it  only 
provocation,  without  any  prospect  of  amendment.  If  it  be  any  father's  misfortune 
to  have  a  son  thus  perverse  and  untractable,  I  know  not  what  more  he  can  do 
but  pray  for  him.  But  I  imagine,  if  a  right  course  be  taken  with  children  from 
the  beginning,  very  few  will  be  found  to  be  such ;  and  when  there  are  any  such 
instances,  they  are  not  to  be  the  rule  for  education  of  those  who  are  better  na- 
tured,  and  may  be  managed  with  better  usage. 

TUTORS   AND    GOVERXORS. 

82.  If  a  tutor  can  be  got,  that,  thinking  himself  in  the  father's  place,  charged 
with  his  care,  and  relishing  tiiese  things,  will  at  the  beginning  apply  himself  to 
put  them  in  practice,  he  will  afterwards  find  his  work  very  easy :  and  you  will, 
I  guess,  have  your  son  in  a  little  time  a  greater  proficient  in  both  learning  and 
breeding  than  perhaps  you  imagine.  But  let  him  by  no  means  beat  him,  at 
any  limr.  without  your  consent  and   direction;  at  least  till  you  have  expe- 


260  LOCKE   ON   KDLCATION 

rience  of  his  discretion  and  temper.  But  yet,  to  I<eep  up  liis  authority 
with  his  pupil,  besides  concealing  that  he  has  not  the  power  of  the  rod,  you 
must  be  sure  to  use  him  with  great  respect  yourself,  aad  cause  all  your  family 
to  do  so  too.  For  you  can  not  expect  your  son  should  have  any  regard  for  one 
whom  he  sees  you,  or  his  mother,  or  others  sUght.  If  you  think  him  worthy 
of  contempt,  you  have  chosen  amiss ;  and  if  you  show  any  contempt  of  him, 
hn  will  hardly  escape  it  from  your  son :  and  whenever  that  happens,  whatever 
worth  he  may  have  in  himself,  and  abilities  for  this  employment,  they  are  all 
lost  to  your  child,  and  can  afterwards  never  be  made  useful  to  him. 

83.  As  the  father's  example  must  teach  the  child  respect  for  his  tutor;  so  the 
tutor's  example  must  lead  the  child  into  those  actions  he  would  have  him  do. 
His  practice  must  by  no  means  cross  his  precepts,  unless  he  intend  to  set  him 
wrong.  It  will  be  to  no  purpose  ibr  the  tutor  to  talk  of  the  restraint  of  the 
passions,  whilst  any  of  his  own  are  let  loose ;  and  he  will  in  vain  endeavor  to 
reform  any  vice  or  indecency  in  his  pupil  which  he  allows  in  himself.  Ill  pat- 
terns are  sure  to  be  followed  more  than  good  rules :  and,  therefore,  he  must  also 
carefully  preserve  him  from  the  influence  of  ill  precedents,  especially  the  most 
dangerous  of  all,  the  examples  of  the  servants ;  from  whose  company  he  is  to 
be  kept,  not  by  prohibitions,  for  that  will  but  give  him  an  itch  after  it,  but  by 
other  ways  I  have  mentioned. 

84.  In  all  the  whole  business  of  education,  there  is  nothing  like  to  be  less 
hearkened  to,  or  harder  to  be  well  observed,  than  what  I  am  now  going  to 
say ;  and  that  is  that  children  should,  from  their  first  beginning  to  talk,  have 
some  discreet,  sober,  nay  wifee  person  about  them,  whose  care  it  should  be  to 
fashion  them  aright  and  keep  them  from  all  ill,  especially  the  infection  of  bad 
company.  I  think  this  province  requires  great  sobriety,  temperance,  tender- 
ness, diligence,  and  discretion ;  qualities  hardly  to  be  found  united  in  persons 
that  are  to  be  had  for  ordinary  salaries,  nor  easily  to  be  found  anywhere.  As 
to  the  charge  of  it,  I  think  it  will  be  the  money  best  laid  out  that  can  be  about 
our  children ;  and,  therefore,  though  it  may  be  expensive  more  than  is  ordina- 
ry, yet  it  can  not  be  thought  dear.  He  that  at  any  rate  procures  his  child  a 
good  mind,  well-principled,  tempered  to  virtue  and  usefulness,  and  adorned  with 
civility  and  good  breeding,  makes  a  better  purchase  for  him,  than  if  he  had  laid 
out  the  money  for  an  addition  of  more  earth  to  his  former  acres.  Spare  it  in  toys 
and  pla3'-games,  in  silk  and  ribbons,  laces  and  other  useless  expenses,  as  much 
as  you  please  ;  but  be  not  sparing  in  so  necessary  a  part  as  this.  It  is  not  good 
husbandr}'  to  make  his  fortune  rich,  and  his  mind  poor.  I  have  often,  with 
great  admiration,  seen  people  lavish  it  profusely  in  tricking  up  their  children  in 
fine  clothes,  lodging,  and  feeding  them  sumptuously,  allowing  them  more  than 
enough  of  useless  servants;  and  yet  at  the  same  time  starve  their  minds,  and 
not  take  sufficient  care  to  cover  that  which  is  the  most  shameful  nakedness, 
viz.,  their  natural  wrong  inclinations  and  ignorance.  This  I  can  look  on  as  no 
other  than  a  sacrificing  to  their  own  vanity  ;  it  showing  more  their  pride  than 
true  care  of  the  good  of  their  children.  Whatsoever  you  employ  to  the  advan- 
tage of  your  son's  mind  will  show  your  true  kindness,  though  it  be  to  the  less- 
ening of  his  estate.  A  wise  and  good  man  can  hardly  want  either  the  opinion 
or  reality  of  being  great  and  happy.  But  he  that  is  foolish  or  vicious,  can  be 
neither  great  nor  happy,  what  estate  soever  you  leave  him :  and  I  ask  you 
whether  there  be  not  men  in  the  world  whom  you  had  rather  have  your  son  be, 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION  3G7 

with  five  hundred  pounds  per  annum,  than  some  other  you  know,  with  five 
thousand  pounds? 

85.  The  consideration  of  charge  ought  not,  therefore,  to  deter  those  who  are 
able :  the  great  difficulty  will  be,  where  to  find  a  proper  person.  For  those  of 
small  age,  parts  and  virtue,  are  unfit  for  this  employment :  and  those  that  have 
greater,  will  hardly  be  got  to  undertake  such  a  charge.  You  must,  therefore, 
look  out  earl}-,  and  inquire  everywhere;  for  the  world  has  people  of  all  sorts: 
and  I  remember,  Montaigne  says  in  one  of  his  essays,  that  the  learned  Castalio 
was  fain  to  make  trenchers  at  Bai?il,  to  keep  himself  from  starving,  when  his 
father  would  have  given  any  money  for  such  a  tutor  for  his  son,  and  Castalio 
have  wUlingly  embraced  such  an  employment  upon  very  reasonable  terms :  but 
this  was  for  want  of  intelligence. 

8tt.  If  you  find  it  difficult  to  meet  with  ^-uch  a  tutor  as  we  desire,  you  are 
not  to  wonder.  I  only  can  say,  spare  no  care  nor  cost  to  get  such  an  one.  All 
things  are  to  be  had  that  waj^:  and  I  dare  assure  you,  that,  if  you  can  get  a 
good  one.  you  will  never  repent  the  charge;  but  will  always  have  the  satisfac- 
tion to  think  it  the  money,  of  all  other,  the  best  laid  out.  But  be  sure  take  no 
body  upon  friends,  or  charitable,  no,  nor  bare  great  commendations.  Nay,  if 
you  will  do  as  you  ought,  the  reputation  of  a  sober  man,  with  a  good  stock  of 
learning,  (which  is  all  usually  required  in  a  tutor,)  will  not  be  enough  to  serve 
your  turn.  In  this  choice  be  as  curious  as  you  would  be  in  that  of  a  wife  for 
him:  for  you  must  not  think  of  trial,  or  changing  afterwards;  that  will  cause 
gi'eat  inconvenience  to  you,  and  greater  to  your  son.  When  1  consider  the 
scruples  and  cautions  I  here  lay  in  your  way,  methinks  it  looks  as  if  I  advised 
you  to  .something  which  I  would  have  offered  at,  but  in  effect  not  done.  But 
he  that  shall  consider,  how  much  the  business  of  a  tutor,  rightly  employed,  lies 
out  of  the  road :  and  how  remote  it  is  from  the  thoughts  of  many,  even  of 
those  who  propose  to  themselves  this  employment ;  will  perhaps  be  of  my  mind, 
that  one  fit  to  educate  and  form  the  mind  of  a  young  gentleman  is  not  every- 
where to  be  found ;  and  that  more  than  ordinary  care  is  to  be  taken  in  the  choice 
of  him,  or  else  you  may  fail  of  your  end. 

87.  The  character  of  a  sober  man,  and  a  scholar,  is,  as  I  have  above  observed, 
what  every  one  expects  in  a  tutor.  This  generally  is  thought  enough,  and  is 
all  that  parents  commonly  look  for.  But  when  such  an  one  has  emptied  out, 
into  his  pupil,  all  the  Latin  and  logic  he  has  brought  from  the  university,  will 
that  furniture  make  him  a  fine  gentleman  ?  Or,  can  it  be  expected,  that  he 
should  be  better  bred,  better  skilled  in  the  world,  better  principled  in  the 
grounds  and  foundations  of  true  virtue  and  generosity,  than  his  young  tutor  is  ? 

To  form  a  young  gentleman,  as  he  should  be,  it  is  fit  his  governor  should 
himself  be  well-bred,  understand  the  ways  of  carriage,  and  measures  of  civility, 
in  all  the  variety  of  persons,  times,  and  places ;  and  keep  his  pupil,  as  much  as 
his  age  requires,  constantly  to  the  observation  of  them.  This  is  an  art  not  to 
be  learnt,  nor  taught  by  books :  nothing  can  give  it  but  good  company  and 
observation  joined  together.  The  tailor  may  make  his  clothes  modish,  and 
the  dancing- master  give  fashion  to  his  motions ;  yet  neither  of  these,  though 
they  set  off  well,  make  a  well-bred  gentleman :  no,  though  he  have  learning  to 
boot;  which,  if  not  well  managed,  makes  him  more  impertinent  and  intolerable 
in  conversation.  Breeding  is  that  which  sets  a  gloss  upon  all  his  other  good  quali- 
.ties,  and  renders  them  useful  to  him,  in  procuring  him  the  esteem  and  good  will 


268  I.OCKR  ON  EDUCATION. 

of  all  that  he  conies  near.  Without  good  breeding,  his  otlier  accomphshnicnts 
make  him  pass  but  for  proud,  conceited,  vain,  or  foolish. 

Courage,  in  an  ill-bred  man,  has  the  air,  and  escapes  not  the  opinion,  of  bru- 
tality :  learning  becomes  pedantrj' ;  wit,  buffoonery ;  plainness,  rusticity :  good- 
nature, fawning:  and  there  can  not  be  a  good  quality  in  him  which  want  of 
breeding  will  not  warp,  and  disfigure  to  his  disadvantage.  Xay,  virtue  and 
parts,  though  they  are  allowed  their  due  commendation,  yet  are  not  enough  to 
procure  a  man  a  good  reception,  and  make  him  welcome  wherever  he  comes. 
Nobody  contents  himself  with  rough  diamonds,  and  wears  them  so,  who  would 
appear  with  advantage.  When  they  are  polished  and  set,  then  they  give  a 
lustre.  Good  qualities  are  the  substantial  riches  of  the  mind ;  but  it  is  good 
breeding  sets  them  off:  and  he  that  will  be  acceptable,  must  give  beauty  as 
well  as  strength  to  his  actions.  Solidity,  or  even  usefulness,  is  not  enough :  a 
graceful  way  and  fashion,  in  everything,  is  that  which  gives  the  ornament  and 
liking.  And,  in  most  cases,  the  manner  of  doing  is  of  more  consequence  than 
the  thing  done ;  and  upon  that  depends  the  satisfaction,  or  disgust  wherewith 
it  is  received.  This,  therefore,  which  lies  not  in  the  putting  off  the  hat,  nor 
making  of  compliments,  but  in  a  due  and  free  composure  of  language,  looks, 
motion,  posture,  place,  &c.,  suited  to  persons  and  occasions,  and  can  be  learned 
only  by  habit  and  use,  though  it  be  above  the  capacity  of  children,  and  little 
ones  should  not  be  perplexed  about  it ;  yet  it  ought  to  be  begun,  and  in  a  good 
measure  learned,  by  a  young  gentleman  whilst  he  is  under  a  tutor,  before  he 
comes  into  the  world  upon  his  own  legs ;  for  tlien  usually  it  is  too  late  to  liope 
to  reform  several  habitual  indecencies,  which  lie  in  little  things.  For  the  car- 
riage is  not  as  it  should  be,  till  it  is  become  natural  in  every  part;  falling,  as 
skillful  musicians'  fingers  do,  into  harmonious  order,  without  care  and  without 
thought.  If  in  conversation  a  man's  mind  be  taken  up  with  a  solicitous  watch- 
fulness about  any  part  of  his  behavior,  instead  of  being  mended  by  it,  it  will 
be  constrained,  uneasy,  and  ungraceful. 

Besides,  this  part  is  most  necessary  to  be  formed  by  the  hands  and  care  of  a 
governor:  because,  tliough  the  errors  committed  in  breeding  are  the  first  that 
are  taken  notice  of  by  others,  yet  they  are  the  last  that  any  one  is  told  of  Not 
but  that  the  malice  of  the  world  is  forward  enough  to  tattle  of  them ;  but  it  is 
always  out  of  his  hearing  who  should  make  profit  of  their  judgment,  and  re- 
form himself  by  their  censure.  And,  indeed,  this  is  so  nice  a  point  to  be  med- 
dled with,  that  even  those  who  are  friends,  and  wish  it  were  mended,  scarce 
ever  dare  mention  it,  and  tell  those  they  love  that  they  are  guilty  in  such  or 
such  cases  of  ill  breeding.  Errors  in  other  things  may  often  with  civility  be 
shown  another ;  and  it  is  no  breach  of  good  manners,  or  friendship,  to  set  him 
right  in  other  mistakes :  but  good  breeding  itself  allows  not  a  man  to  touch 
upon  this ;  or  to  insinuate  to  another,  that  he  is  guilty  of  want  of  breeding. 
Such  information  can  come  only  from  those  who  hkve  authority  over  them:  and 
from  them  too  it  comes  very  hardly  and  harshly  to  a  grown  man  ;  and,  however 
soft;ened,  goes  but  ill  down  with  any  one  who  has  lived  ever  so  little  in  the 
world.  Wherefore,  it  is  necessary  that  this  part  should  be  the  governor's  prin- 
cipal care ;  that  an  habitual  gracefulness,  and  politeness  in  all  his  carriage,  may 
be  settled  in  his  charge,  as  much  as  may  be,  before  he  goes  out  of  his  hands: 
and  that  he  may  not  need  advice  in  this  point  when  he  has  neither  time  nor 
disposition  to  receive  it,  nor  has  any  body  left  to  give  it  him.  The  tutor,  there- 
fore, ought  in  the  first  place  to  be  well-bred:  and  a  young  g.utleman  who  gets 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  263 

this  one  qualification  from  his  governor,  sets  out  with  great  advantage ;  and 
will  find,  that  this  one  accomplishment  vfUl  more  open  his  way  to  him,  get  him 
more  fi-iends,  and  carry  him  farther  in  the  world,  than  all  the  hard  words,  or  real 
knowledge,  he  has  got  from  the  liberal  arts,  or  his  tutor's  learned  encyclope- 
dia; not  that  those  should  be  neglected,  but  by  no  means  preferred,  or  suffered 
to  thrust  out  the  other. 

88.  Besides  being  well-bred,  the  tutor  should  know  the  world  well ;  the  ways, 
the  humors,  the  follies,  the  cheats,  the  faults  of  the  age  he  is  fallen  into,  and 
particularly  of  the  country  he  lives  in.  These  he  should  be  able  to  show  to  his 
pupU,  as  he  finds  him  capable:  teach  him  skQl  in  men,  and  their  manners; 
pull  off  the  mask  which  their  several  callings  and  pretenses  cover  them  with  ; 
and  make  his  pupil  discern  what  lies  at  the  bottom  under  such  appearances ; 
that  he  may  not,  as  unexperienced  young  men  are  apt  to  do,  if  they  are  un- 
warned, take  one  thing  for  another,  judge  by  the  outside,  and  give  jiimself  up 
to  show,  and  the  insinuation  of  a  fair  carriage,  or  an  obliging  application.  A 
governor  should  teach  liis  scholar  to  guess  at,  and  beware  of  the  designs  of  men 
he  hath  to  do  with,  neither  with  too  much  suspicion,  nor  too  much  confidence; 
but,  as  the  young  man  is  by  nature  most  inclined  to  either  side,  rectify  him,  and 
bend  him  the  other  way.  He  should  accustom  him  to  make  as  much  as  is  pos- 
sible a  true  judgment  of  men  by  those  marks  which  serve  best  to  show  what 
they  are,  and  give  a  prospect  into  their  inside ;  which  often  shows  itself  in  little 
things ;  especially  when  they  are  not  in  parade,  and  upon  their  guard.  He 
should  acquaint  him  with  the  true  state  of  the  world,  and  dispose  him  to  think 
no  man  better  or  worse,  wiser  or  foolisher,  than  he  reall}^  is.  Thus,  by  safe  and 
insensible  degrees,  he  will  pass  from  a  boy  to  a  man ;  which  is  the  most  hazard- 
ous step  in  all  the  whole  course  of  life.  This,  therefore,  should  be  carefully 
watched,  and  a  young  man  with  great  diligence  handed  over  it ;  and  not,  as 
now  usually  is  done,  be  taken  from  a  governor's  conduct,  and  all  at  once  thrown 
into  the  world  under  his  own,  not  without  manifest  danger  of  immediate  spoil- 
ing; there  being  nothing  more  frequent,  than  instances  of  the  great  looseness, 
extravagancy,  and  debauchery,  which  young  men  have  run  into,  as  soon  as  they 
have  been  let  loose  from  a  severe  and  strict  education :  which  I  think  may  be 
chiefly  imputed  to  their  wrong  way  of  breeding,  especially  in  this  part;  for 
having  been  bred  up  in  a  great  ignorance  of  what  the  world  truly  is,  arid  finding 
it  quite  anotlier  thing,  when  they  come  into  it,  than  what  they  were  taught  it 
should  be,  and  so  imagined  it  was,  are  easily  persuaded,  by  other  kind  of  tutors, 
which  they  are  sure  to  meet  with,  that  the  discipline  they  were  kept  under,  and 
the  lectures  that  were  read  to  them,  were  but  the  formalities  of  education,  and  the 
restraints  of  childhood ;  that  the  freedom  belonging  i,u  men,  is  to  take  their 
swing  in  a  full  enjoyment  of  what  was  before  forbidden  them.  They  show  the 
young  novice  the  world  full  of  fashionable  and  glittering  examples  ot  this  every- 
where, and  he  is  presently  dazzled  with  them.  My  young  master  tailing  not  to 
be  willing  to  show  himself  a  man,  as  much  as  any  of  the  sparks  of  his  years, 
lets  himself  loose  to  all  the  irregularities  he  finds  in  the  most  debauched;  and 
thus  courts  credit  and  manliness,  in  the  casting  off  the  modesty  and  sobriety, 
he  has  till  then  been  kept  in ;  and  thinks  it  brave,  at  his  first  setting  out,  to 
signalize  himself  in  running  counter  to  all  the  rules  of  virtue,  wliich  have  been 
preached  to  him  by  his  tutor. 

The  sliowing  him  the  world  as  really  it  is,  before  he  comes  wholly  into  it,  is 
■one  of  the  best  moans,  I  think,  to  prevent  this  miscliiof.     He  sliould,  by  degrees, 


270 


I.OCKr:  ON   EDUCATION 


be  informed  of  the  vices  in  fasliion,  and  warned  of  the  applications  and  designs- 
of  those,  who  will  make  it  their  business  to  corrupt  him.  He  should  be  told  the 
arts  thej'  use,  and  the  trains  they^lay;  and  now  and  then  have  set  before  him  the 
tragical  or  ridiculous  examples  of  those,  who  are  ruining,  or  ruined  this  way. 
The  age  is  not  like  to  want  instances  of  this  kind,  which  should  be  made  laud- 
marks  to  him ;  that  by  the  disgraces,  diseases,  beggar}-,  and  shame  of  hopeful 
j'oung  men  thus  brought  to  ruin,  he  may  oe  precautioned,  and  be  made  to  see, 
how  those  join  in  the  coniemi't  and  neglect  of  them  that  are  undone,  who  by 
pretenses  of  friendship  and  respect  led  them  into  it,  and  help  to  prey  upon 
them  wliilst  they  were  undoing;  that  he  may  see,  before  he  buys  it  by  a  too 
dear  experience  that,  those  who  persuiide  him  not  to  follow  the  sobcradvices 
he  has  received  from  his  governors,  and  the  counsel  of  his  own  reason,  which 
ihey  call  being  governed  by  others,  do  it  only,  that  they  may  have  the  govern- 
ment of  him  themselves ;  and  make  him  believe  he  goes  like  a  man  of  him- 
selfj  by  his  own  conduct,  and  for  his  own  pleasure ;  when,  in  truth,  he  is  wholly 
as  a  child  led  by  them  into  those  vices,  which  best  serve  their  purposes.  This 
is  a  knowledge  which,  upon  all  occasions,  a  tutor  should  endeavor  to  instill,  and 
by  all  methods  try  to  make  him  comprehend,  and  thoroughly  relish. 

I  know  it  is  often  said,  that  to  discover  to  a  young  man  the  vices  of  the  age, 
is  to  teach  them  him.  That  I  confess  is  a  good  deal  so,  according  as  it  is  done; 
and,  therefore,  requires  a  discreet  man  of  parts,  who  knows  the  world,  and  can 
judge  of  the  temper,  inclination  and  weak  side  of  his  pupil.  This  farther  is 
to  be  remembered,  that  it  is  not  possible  now  (as  perhaps  formerly  it  was)  to 
keep  a  young  gentleman  from  vice,  by  a  total  ignorance  of  it ;  unless  you  will 
all  his  life  mew  him  up  in  a  closet,  and  never  let  him  go  into  company.  The 
longer  he  is  kept  thus  hood-winked,  the  less  he  will  see,  when  he  comes  abroad 
into  open  day-light,  and  be  the  more  exposed  to  be  a  prej'  to  himself,  and  others. 
And  an  old  boy  at  his  first  appearance, -with  all  the  gravity  of  his  ivy-bush 
about  him,  is  sure  to  draw  on  him  the  eyes  and  cliirping  of  the  whole  town 
volery ;  amongst  which,  there  will  not  be  wanting  some  birds  of  prey,  that  will 
presently  be  on  the  wing  for  him. 

The  only  fence  against  the  world  is,  a  thorough  knowledge  of  it ;  into  which- 
a  young  gentleman  should  be  entered  by  degrees,  as  he  can  bear  it ;  and  the 
earlier  the  better,  so  he  be  in  safe  and  skillful  hands  to  guide  him.  The 
scene  should  be  gently  opened,  and  his  entrance  made  step  by  step,  and  the 
dangers  pointed  out  that  attend  him,  from  the  several  degrees,  tempters,  designs, 
and  clubs  of  men.  He  should  be  prepared  to  be  shocked  by  some,  and  caress- 
ed by  others ;  warned  who  are  like  to  oppose,  who  to  mislead,  who  to  under- 
mine him,  and  who  to  serve  him.  He  should  be  instructed  how  to  know,  and- 
distinguish  men;  where  he  should  let  them  see,  and  when  dissemble  the 
knowledge  of  them,  and  their  aims  and  workings.  And  if  he  be  too  forward  to 
venture  upon  his  own  strength  and  skill,  the  perplexity  and  trouble  of  a  mis- 
adventure now  and  then,  that  reaches  not  his  innocence,  his  health,  or  reputa- 
tion, may  not  be  an  ill  way  to  teach  him  more  caution. 

This,  I  confess,  containing  one  great  part  of  wisdom,  is  not  the  product  of 
some  superficial  thoughts,  or  much  reading;  but  the  effect  of  experience  and 
observation  in  a  man.  who  iias  lived  in  the  world  with  his  eyes  open,  and  con- 
versed with  men  of  all  sort.s.  And,  therefore.  I  think  it  of  most  value  to  be 
nstilled  into  a  youn;;;  man.  upon  all  occasions,  which  offer  themselves,  tliat 
wlien  he  conies  to  launcli  into  the  deep  himself,  he  may  not  be  like  one  at  sea. 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  271 

without  a  line,  compass,  or  sea-ciiart:  but  may  have  some  notice  beforehand  of 
the  rocks  and  shoals,  the  currents  and  quicksands,  and  know  a  little  how  to 
steer,  that  he  sink  not,  before  he  get  experience.  He  that  thinks  not  this  of 
more  moment  to  his  son,  and  for  which  he  more  needs  a  governor,  than  the 
languages  and  learned  sciences,  forgets  of  how  much  more  use  it  is  to  judge 
right  of  men  and  manage  his  affairs  wisely  with  them,  than  to  speak  Greek  and 
Latin,  or  argue  in  mood  and  figure ;  or  to  have  his  head  filled  with  the  abstruse 
speculations  of  natural  philosophy  and  metaphysics;  nay,  than  to  be  well  versed 
in  Greek  and  Roman  writers,  though  that  be  much  better  for  a  gentleman  than 
to  be  a  good  peripatetic  or  Cartesian :  because  those  ancient  authors  observed 
and  painted  mankind  well,  and  give  the  best  light  into  that  kind  of  knowledge. 
He  that  goes  into  the  eastern  parts  of  Asia,  will  find  able  and  acceptable  men, 
without  any  of  these:  but  without  virtue,  knowledge  of  the  world,  and  civility, 
an  accomplished  and  valuable  man  can  be  found  nowhere. 

A  great  part  of  the  learning  now  in  fashion  in  the  schools  of  Europe,  and 
that  goes  ordinarily  into  the  round  of  education,  a  gentleman  may  in  a  good 
measure  be  unfurnished  with,  without  any  great  disparagement  to  himself,  or 
prejudice  to  his  affairs.  But  prudence  and  good  breeding  are,  in  all  the  stations 
and  occurrences  of  life,  necessary;  and  most  young  men  suffer  in  the  want  of 
them,  and  come  rawer,  and  more  awkward,  into  the  world  than  thej'  should, 
for  this  very  reason,  because  these  qualities,  which  are,  of  all  other,  the  most 
necessary  to  be  taught,  and  stand  most  in  need  of  the  assistance  and  help  of  a 
teacher,  are  generally  neglected,  and  thought  but  a  slight,  or  no  part  of  a  tutor's 
business.  Latin  and  learning  make  all  the  noise :  and  the  main  stress  is  laid 
upon  his  proficiency  in  things,  a  great  part  whereof  belongs  not  to  a  gentle- 
man's calling ;  which  is  to  have  the  knowledge  of  a  man  of  business,  a  carriage 
suitable  to  his  rank,  and  to  be  eminent  and  useful  in  his  country,  according  to 
his  station.  Whenever  either  spare  hours  from  that,  or  an  inclination  to  per- 
fect himself  in  some  parts  of  knowledge,  which  his  tutor  did  but  just  enter  him 
in,  set  him  upon  any  study ;  the  first  rudiments  of  it,  which  he  learned  before, 
will  open  the  way  enougli  for  his  own  industry  to  carry  him  as  far  as  his  fancy 
will  prompt,  or  his  parts  enable  him  to  go :  or,  if  he  thinks  it  may  save  his  time 
and  pains,  to  be  helped  over  some  difiBculties  by  the  hands  of  a  master,  he  may 
then  take  a  man  that  is  perfectly  well  skilled  in  it,  or  choose  such  an  one  as  he 
thinks  fittest  for  his  purpose.  But  to  initiate  his  pupil  in  any  part  of  learning, 
as  far  as  is  necessary  for  a  young  man  in  the  ordinary  course  of  his  studies,  an 
ordinary  skill  in  the  governor  is  enough.  Nor  is  it  requisite  that  he  should  lie 
a  thorougli  scholar,  or  possess  in  perfection  all  those  sciences,  which  it  is  con- 
venient a  j'oung  gentleman  should  have  a  taste  of]  in  some  general  view,  or 
short  system.  A  gentleman  that  would  penetrate  deeper,  must  do  it  by  his  own 
genius  and  industry  afterwards:  for  nobody  ever  went  far  in  knowledge,  or  be- 
came eminent  in  any  of  the  sciences  by  the  discipline  and  constraint  of  a 
master. 

The  great  work  of  a  governor  is  to  fashion  the  carriage,  and  form  the  mind ; 
to  settle  in  his  pupil  good  habits,  and  the  principles  of  virtue  and  wisdom ;  to 
give  him  by  little  and  little,  a  view  of  mankind ;  and  work  him  into  a  love  and 
imitation  of  what  is  excellent  and  praiseworthy;  and  in  the  prosecution  of  it, 
to  give  him  vigor,  activity  and  industry.  The  studies  which  he  sets  liira  upon, 
are  but  as  it  were  the  exercises  of  his  Faculties,  and, employment  of  his  time, 
to  keep  him  from  sauntering  and  idleness,  to  teach  him  application,  and  aceus- 


272  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

•toiii  hiin  to  tako  pains,  and  to  give  him  some  little  taste  to  what  his  own  indus- 
tiy  must  perfect.  For  who  expects,  that  under  a  tutor  a  young  gentleman 
should  be  an  acuomplished  critic,  orator  or  logician ;  go  to  the  bottom  of  met- 
aphysics, natural  pliilosoph}'  or  mathematics:  or  be  a  master  in  history  or 
chronology?  though  something  of  each  of  these  is  to  be  taught  him  :  but  it  is 
only  to  open  the  door  that  he  may  look  in,  and,  as  it  were,  begin  an  acquaint- 
ance', but  not  to  dwell  there:  and  a  governor  would  be  much  blamed,  that 
should  keep  his  pupil  too  long,  and  lead  him  too  far  in  most  of  them.  But  of 
good  breeding,  knowledge  of  the  world,  virtue,  industry,  and  a  love  of  reputa- 
tion, he  can  not  have  too  much :  and  if  he  have  these,  he  will  not  long  want 
what  he  needs  or  desires  of  the  other. 

And.  since  it  can  not  be  hoped  he  should  have  time  and  strength  to  learn  all 
things,  most  pains  should  be  taken  about  that  which  is  most  necessary ;  and 
that  principally  looked  after  which  will  be  of  most  and  frequentest  use  to  him 
in  the  world. 

Seneca  complains  of  the  contrary  practice  in  his  time ;  and  yet  the  Burgers- 
diciuses  and  the  Scheiblers  did  not  swarm  in  those  days,  as  they  do  now  in  these. 
What  would  he  have  thought,  if  he  had  lived  now,  when  the  tutors  think  it  their 
great  business  to  fill  the  studies  and  heads  of  their  pupils  with  such  authors  as 
these?  He  would  have  had  much  more  reason  to  say,  as  he  does,  "Non  vitae, 
sed  scholae  discimus,"  We  learn  not  to  live,  but  to  dispute;  and  our  education 
■fits  us  rather  for  the  university  than  the  world.  But  it  is  no  wonder  if  those  who 
make  the  fashion  suit  it  to  what  they  have,  and  not  to  what  their  pupils  want. 
The  fashion  being  once  established,  who  can  think  it  strange,  that  in  this,  as 
well  as  in  all  other  things,  it  should  prevail ;  and  that  the  greatest  part  of  those, 
who  find  their  account  in  an  easy  submission  to  it,  should  be  ready  to  cry  out 
heresy,  when  any  one  departs  from  it?  It  is,  nevertheless,  matter  of  astonish- 
ment, that  men  of  quality,  and  parts,  should  suffer  themselves  to  be  so  far  mis- 
led by  custom  and  implicit  faith.  Reason,  if  consulted  with,  would  advise 
that  their  children's  time  should  be  spent  in  acquiring  what  might  be  useful  to 
them  when  they  come  to  be  men ;  rather  than  to  have  their  heads  stuffed  with 
a  deal  of  trash,  a  great  part  whereof  they  usually  never  do,  (it  is  certain 
ti)ey  never  need  to. )  think  on  again  as  long  as  they  live ;  and  so  much  of  it  as 
does  stick  by  them,  they  are  only  the  worse  for.  This  is  so  well  known,  that  I 
appeal  to  parents  themselves,  who  have  been  at  cost  to  have  their  young  heirs 
taught  it,  whether  it  be  not  ridiculous  for  their  sons  to  have  any  tincture  of 
tliat  S:ort  of  learning,  when  they  come  abroad  into  the  world ;  whether  any  ap- 
pearance of  it  would  not  lessen  and  disgrace  them  in  company.  And  tliat  cer- 
tainly nmst  be  an  admirable  acquisition,  and  deserves  well  to  make  a  part  in 
education,  which  men  are  ashamed  of,  where  they  are  most  concerned  to  show 
their  parts  and  breeding. 

There  is  j'Ct  another  rea.son,  why  politeness  of  manners,  and  knowledge  of 
the  world,  should  principally  be  looked  after  in  a  tutor:  and  that  is,  because  a 
man  of  parts  and  years  may  enter  a  lad  far  enough  in  any  of  those  sciences, 
which  he  has  no  deep  insight  into  himself.  Books  in  these  will  he  able  to  fur- 
nish him,  and  giye  iiim  light  and  precedency  enougli,  to  go  before  a  young  fol 
lower:  but  ho  will  never  be  able  to  set  another  right  in  the  knowledge  of  the 
world,  and,  above  all,  in  breeding,  who  is  a  novice  in  them  himself 

This  is  a  knowledge  he  must  have  about  him,  worn  into  him  by  use  and  con- 
versation, and  a  long  forming  himself  by  what  he  has  observed  to  be  practiced 


LOCKE  ON  EDIU  ATION  273 

^nd  allowed  iu  the  best  compan}'.  This,  if  he  has  it  not  of  his  own,  is  nowliere 
to  be  borrowed,  for  the  use  of  his  pupil:  or  if  he  could  find  pertinent  treatises 
of  it  in  books,  that  would  reach  all  the  particulars  of  an  English  gentleman's 
behavior;  his  own  ill-fashioned  example,  if  he  be  not  well-bred  himself,  would 
spoil  all  his  lectures;  it  being  impossible,  that  anyone  should  come  forth  well- 
fashioned  out  of  unpolished,  ill-bred  company. 

I  say  this,  not  that  I  think  such  a  tutor  is  every  day  to  be  met  with,  or  to  be 
had  at  the  ordinary  rates :  but  that  those,  who  are  able,  may  not  be  sparing  of 
inquiry  or  cost  in  what  is  of  so  great  moment ;  and  that  other  parents,  whose 
estates  will  not  reach  to  greater  salaries,  may  yet  remember  what  they  should 
principally  have  an  eye  to,  in  the  choice  of  one  to  whom  they  would  commit  the 
education  of  their  children  ;  and  what  part  they  should  chiefly  look  after  them- 
selves, whilst  they  are  under  their  care,  and  as  often  as  they  come  within  their 
observation ;  and  not  think,  that  all  lies  in  Latin  and  French,  or  some  dry  sys- 
tems of  logic  and  philosophy. 

FAMILIARITY. 

89.  But  to  return  to  our  method  again.  Though  I  have  mentioned  the  se- 
verity of  the  father's  brow,  and  the  awe  settled  thereby  in  the  mind  of  children 
when  young,  as  one  main  instrument  whereby  their  education  is  to  be  managed ; 
yet  I  am  far  from  being  of  an  opinion,  that  it  should  be  continued  all  along  to 
them  whilst  they  are  under  the  discipJme  and  government  of  pupilage,  I  think 
it  should  be  relaxed,  as  fast  as  their  age,  discretion,  and  good  behavior  could 
allow  it  even  to  that  degree,  that  a  father  will  do  well  as  his  son  grows  up,  and 
is  capable  of  it,  to  talk  familiarly  with  him ;  nay,  ask  his  advice,  and  consult 
with  him  about  those  things  wherein  he  has  any  knowledge  or  understanding. 
By  this  the  father  will  gain  two  things,  both  of  great  moment.  The  one  is. 
that  it  will  put  serious  considerations  into  his  son's  thoughts,  better  than  anj 
rules  or  advices  he  can  give  him.  The  sooner  you  treat  him  as  a  man,  the 
sooner  he  will  begin  to  be  one,  and  if  you  admit  him  into  serious  discourses 
sometimes  with  you,  you  will  insensibly  raise  his  mind  above  the  usual  amuse 
ments  of  youth,  and  those  trifling  occupations  which  it  is  commonly  wasted  in. 
For  it  is  easy  to  observe,  that  many  young  men  continue  longer  in  the  thought 
and  conversation  of  school-boys,  than  otherwise  they  would,  because  their  pa- 
rents keep  them  at  that  distance,  and  in  that  low  rank,  by  all  their  carriage  to 
them. 

90.  Another  thing  of  greater  consequence,  which  j^ou  will  obtain  by  such  a 
way  of  treating  him,  will  be  his  friendship.  Many  fathers,  though  they  pro- 
portion to  tlieir  sons  liberal  allowances,  according  to  their  age  and  condition, 
yet  they  keep  the  knowledge  of  their  estates  and  concerns  from  them  with  as 
much  reservedncss  as  if  they  were  guarding  a  secret  of  state  from  a  .spy  or  an 
enemy.  This,  if  it  looks  not  like  jealousy,  yet  it  wants  those  marks  of  kind- 
ness and  intimacy,  which  a  father  should  show  to  his  son,  and,  no  doubt,  often 
hinders  or  abates  that  cheerfulness  and  satisfaction  wherewith  a  son  should  ad- 
dress himself  to,  and  rely  upon  his  father.  And  I  can  not  but  often  wonder  to 
see  fathers,  who  love  their  sons  very  well,  yet  so  order  the  matter  by  a  constant 
stiffness,  and  a  mien  of  authority  and  distance  to  them  all  their  lives,  as  if  they 
were  never  to  enjoy  or  have  any  comfort  from  those  they  love  best  in  the  world 
till  thev  have  lost  them  by  being  removed   into  another.     Nothing  cements  and 


274  I.OCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

establishes  friendship  and  good-will  so  much  as  confident  communication  of  con- 
cernments and  affairs.  Other  kindnesses,  without  this,  leave  still  some  doubts; 
but  wlien  3'our  son  sees  you  open  your  mind  to  him,  when  he  finds  that  you 
interest  bira  in  your  affairs  as  things  you  are  willing  should,  in  their  turn,  come 
into  his  hands,  he  win  be  concerned  for  them  as  for  his  own,  wait  his  season 
with  patience,  and  love  you  in  the  mean  time,  who  keep  him  not  at  the  distance 
of  a  stranger.  This  will  also  make  him  see,  that  the  enjoyment  you  have  is  not 
without  care,  which  the  more  he  is  sensible  of,  the  less  will  he  env}-  you  the 
possession,  and  the  more  think  himself  happy  under  the  management  of  so 
favorable  a  friend,  and  so  careful  a  father.  There  is  scarce  any  j'oung  man  of 
so  little  thought,  or  so  void  of  .?ense,  that  would  not  be  glad  of  a  sure  friend, 
that  he  might  have  recourse  to,  and  freely  consult  on  occasion.  The  reserved- 
ness  and  distance  that  fathers  keep,  often  deprive  their  sons  of  that  refuge 
which  would  be  of  more  advantage  to  them  than  a  hundred  rebukes  and  chid- 
ings.  Would  your  son  engage  in  some  frolic,  or  take  a  vagary,  were  it  not 
much  better  he  should  do  it  with  than  without  your  knowledge  ?  For  since 
allowances  for  such  things  must  be  made  to  j'oung  men,  the  more  you  know  of 
his  intrigues  and  designs,  the  better  will  you  be  able  to  prevent  great  misciiiefs; 
and,  by  letting  him  see  what  is  like  to  follow,  take  the  right  way  of  prevailing 
with  him  to  avoid  less  inconveniences.  Would  you  have  him  open  his  heart 
to  you,  and  ask  your  advice  ?  You  must  begin  to  do  so  with  him  first,  and  by 
your  carriage  beget  that  confidence. 

91.  But  whatever  he  consults  you  about,  unless  it  lead  to  some  fatal  and  irre- 
mediable mischief,  be  sure  you  advise  only  as  a  friend  of  more  experience ;  but 
with  your  advice  mingle  nothing  of  command  or  authority,  nor  more  than  you 
would  to  your  equal,  or  a  stranger.  That  would  be  to  drive  him  forever  from 
any  farther  demanding,  or  receiving  advantage  from  your  counsel.  You  must 
consider  that  he  is  a  young  man,  and  has  pleasures  and  fancies  which  you  are 
passed.  You  must  not  expect  his  inclinations  should  be  just  as  yours,  nor 
that  at  twenty  he  should  have  the  same  thoughts  you  have  at  Mty.  All  that 
you  can  wish  is,  that  since  youth  must  have  some  liberty,  some  outleaps,  they 
might  be  with  the  ingenuity  of  a  son,  and  under  the  eye  of  a  father,  and  then 
no  very  great  harm  can  come  of  it.  The  way  to  obtain  this,  as  I  said  before, 
is  (according  as  you  find  him  capable,)  to  talk  with  him  about  your  affairs,  pro- 
pose matters  to  him  familiarly,  and  ask  his  advice ;  and  when  he  ever  lights  on 
the  right  follow  it  as  his,  and  if  it  succeed  well,  let  him  have  the  commenda- 
tion. This  will  not  at  all  lessen  your  authority,  but  increase  his  love  and  es- 
teem of  you.  Whilst  you  keep  your  estate,  the  staff  will  still  be  in  your  own 
hands,  and  your  authority  the  surer,  the  more  it  is  strengthened  with  confidence 
and  kindness.  For  you  have  not  that  power  you  ought  to  have  over  him,  till 
he  comes  to  be  more  afraid  of  offending  so  good  a  friend  than  of  losing  some 
part  of  his  future  expectation. 

92.  Familiarity  of  discourse,  if  it  can  become  a  father  to  his  son,  may  much 
more  be  condescended  to  by  a  tutor  to  his  pupil.  All  their  time  together  should 
not  be  spent  in  reading  of  lectures,  and  magisterially  dictating  to  him  what  he 
is  to  observe  and  follow,  hearing  him  in  his  turn,  and  using  him  to  reason  about 
what  is  proposed,  will  make  the  rules  go  down  the  easier,  and  sink  the  deeper, 
and  will  give  him  a  liking  to  study  and  instruction,  and  he  will  then  begin  to 

'ojiir'  knowledge,  when  he  sees  that  it  cnaViles  him  to  discourse,  and  he  finds 


LOCKE  ON"  EDUCATION.  275 

the  pleasure  and  credit  of  bearing  a  part  in  the  conversation,  and  of  lu.ving  his 
reasons  sometimes  approved  and  hearkened  to.  Particularly  in  morality,  pru- 
dence, and  breeding,  cases  should  be  put  to  him,  and  his  judgment  asked  ;  this 
opens  the  understanding  better  than  maxims,  how  well  soever  explained,  and 
settles  the  rules  better  in  the  memory  for  practice.  This  way  lets  things  into- 
the  mind,  which  stick  there  and  retain  their  evidence  with  them ;  whereas 
words  at  best  are  faint  representations,  being  not  so  much  as  the  true  shadows 
of  things,  and  are  much  sooner  forgotten.  He  will  better  comprehend  the 
foundations  and  measures  of  decency  and  justice,  and  have  livelier  and  more 
lasting  impressions  of  what  he  ought  to  do,  by  giving  his  opinion  on  cases  pro- 
posed, and  reasoning  with  his  tutor  on  fit  instances,  than  by  giving  a  silent,  neg- 
ligent, sleepy  audience  to  his  tutor's  lectures,  and  much  more  than  by  captious 
logical  disputes,  or  set  declamations  of  his  own,  upon  any  question.  The  one 
sets  the  thoughts  upon  wit,  and  false  colors,  and  not  upon  truth ;  the  other 
teaches  fallacy,  wrangling,  and  opiniatry,  and  they  are  both  of  them  things  that 
spoil  the  judgment,  and  put  a  man  out  of  the  way  of  right  and  fair  reasoning, 
and  therefore  carefully  to  be  avoided  by  one  who  would  improve  himself  and 
be  acceptable  to  others. 

REVERENCE. 

93.  When,  by  making  your  son  sensible  that  he  depends  on  you,  and  is  in 
your  power,  you  have  established  your  authority,  and  by  being  inflexibly  severe 
in  your  carriage  to  him,  when  obstinately  persisting  in  any  ill-natured  trick  which 
you  have  forbidden,  especially  lying,  you  have  imprinted  on  his  mind  that  awe 
which  is  necessary ;  and,  on  the  other  side,  when  (by  permitting  him  the  full- 
liberty  due  to  his  age,  and  laying  no  restraint  in  your  presence  to  those  childish 
actions,  and  gayety  of  carriage  which,  whilst  he  is  very  young,  are  as  necessary 
to  him  as  meat  or  sleep,)  you  have  reconciled  him  to  your  company,  and  made 
him  sensible  of  your  care  and  love  of  him  by  indulgence  and  tenderness,  espe- 
cially caressing  him  on  all  occasions  wherein  he  does  any  thing  well,  and  being 
kind  to  him,  after  a  thousand  fashions,  suitable  to  his  age,  which  nature  teaches 
parents  better  than  I  can ;  when,  I  say,  by  these  ways  of  tenderness  and  affec- 
tion, which  parents  never  want  for  their  children,  you  have  also  planted  in  him^ 
a  particular  affection  for  you  ;  he  is  then  in  the  state  you  could  desire,  and  you. 
have  formed  in  his  mind  that  true  reverence  which  is  always  afterwards  care- 
fully to  be  continued  and  maintained  in  both  parts  of  it,  love  and  fear,  as  the- 
great  principles  whereby  you  will  always  have  hold  upon  him  to  turn  his  mind 
to  the  ways  of  virtue  and  honor. 

TEMPER. 

94.  When  this  foundation  is  once  well  laid,  and  you  find  this  reverence  be- 
gin to  work  in  him,  the  next  thing  to  be  done  is  carefully  to  consider  his  temper 
and  the  particular  constitution  of  his  mind.  Stubbornness,  lying,  and  ill-natured 
actions,  are  not  (as  has  been  said,)  to  be  permitted  in  him  from  the  beginning, 
whatever  his  temper  be ;  tliose  seeds  of  vices  are  not  to  be  suffered  to  take  any 
root,  but  must  be  carefully  weeded  out  as  soon  as  ever  they  begin  to  show 
themselves  in  him  ;  and  your  authority  is  to  take  place  and  influence  his  mind 
from  the  ver}--  dawning  of  any  knowledge  in  him,  that  it  may  operate  as  a  nat- 
ural principle,  whereof  he  never  perceived  the  beginning,  never  knew  that  it 
was,  or  could  be  otherwise.     By  this,  if  the  reverence  he  owes  you  be  estab- 


276  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

lished  early,  it  will  always  be  sacred  to  him,  and  it  will  be  as  hard  for  hirn  to 
resist  it,  as  the  principles  of  his  nature. 

95.  Having  thus  very  early  set  up  your  authority,  and,  by  the  gentler  appli- 
cations of  it,  shamed  him  out  of  what  leads  towards  an  immoral ;  habit  as  soon  as 
you  have  observed  it  in  him,  (for  I  would  by  no  means  have  chiding  used,  much 
less  blows,  till  obstinacy  and  in/  orrigibleuess  make  it  absolutely  necessary,)  it  will 
be  fit  to  consider  which  way  the  natural  make  of  his  mind  inclines  him.  Some 
men,  by  the  unalterable  frame  of  their  constitutions,  are  stout,  others  timorous; 
some  confident,  others  modest,  tractable  or  obstinate,  curious  or  careless,  quick 
or  slow.  There  are  not  more  differences  in  men's  faces,  and  the  outward  linea- 
ments of  their  bodies,  than  there  are  in  the  makes  and  tempers  of  their  minds, 
only  there  is  this  diflerence,  that  the  distinguishing  characters  of  the  face,  and 
the  lineaments  of  the  body,  grow  more  plain  and  visible  with  time  and  age,  but 
the  peculiar  physiognomy  of  the  mind  is  most  discernible  in  children  before  art 
and  cunning  have  taught  them  to  hide  their  deformities,  and  conceal  their  ill 
inclinations  under  a  dissembled  outside. 

96.  Begin,  therefore,  betimes  nicely  to  observe  your  son's  temper,  and  that 
when  he  is  under  least  restraint,  in  his  play,  and  as  he  thinks,  out  of  your  sight. 
See  what  are  his  predominant  passions,  and  prevailing  inclinations ;  whether 
he  be  fierce  or  mild,  bold  or  bashful,  compassionate  or  cruel,  open  or  reserved, 
&c.  For  as  these  are  different  in  him,  so  are  your  methods  to  l)e  different,  and 
your  authority  must  hence  take  measures  to  apply  itself  different  ways  to  him. 
These  native  propensities,  these  prevalences  of  constitution,  are  not  to  be  cured 
by  rules,  or  a  direct  contest ;  especially  those  of  them  that  are  the  humbler  and 
meaner  sort,  which  proceed  from  fear  and  lo^v  ness  of  spirit ;  though  with  art 
!they  may  be  much  mended,  and  turned  to  good  purpose.  But  this  be  sure  of, 
after  all  is  done,  the  bias  will  always  hang  on  that  side  where  nature  first  placed 
it ;  and,  if  you  carefully  observe  the  characters  of  his  mind  now  in  the  first 
scenes  of  his  life,  you  will  ever  after  be  able  to  judge  which  way  his  thoughts 
lean,  and  what  he  aims  at  even  hereafter,  when,  as  he  grows  up,  the  plot  thick- 
ens, and  he  puts  on  several  sliapes  to  act  it. 

noinNiON. 

97.  I  told  you  before,  that  children  love  liberty,  and  therefore  they  should  bo 
brought  to  do  the  things  that  are  fit  for  them,  without  feeling  any  restraint  laid 
upon  them.  I  now  tell  you  they  love  something  more,  and  that  is  dominion ; 
and  this  is  the  first  original  of  most  vicious  habits  that  are  ordinary  and  natu- 
ral. This  love  of  power  and  dominion  shows  itself  very  early,  and  that  in  theso 
two  things. 

98.  1.  "We  see  children  (as  soon  almost  as  they  are  born,  I  am  sure  long  be 
fore  they  can  speak.)  cry,  grow  peevish,  sullen,  and  out  of  hunger,  for  nothing 
but  to  have  their  wills.  They  would  have  tlieir  desires  submitted  to  by  others; 
they  contend  for  a  ready  compliance  from  all  about  them,  especially  from  those 
that  stand  near  or  beneath  them  in  age  or  degree,  as  soon  as  they  come  to  con- 
sider others  with  those  distinctions. 

99.  2.  Another  thing  wherein  they  show  their  love  of  dominion,  is  their  de- 
sire to  have  things  to  be  theirs ;  they  would  have  property  and  possession, 
pleasing  themselves  with  the  power  which  that  seems  to  give,  and  the  right 
they  thereby  have  to  dispose  of  them  as  they  please.  He  that  has  not  ob- 
.served  these  two  humors  working  very  betimes  in  children,  has  taken  little 


I.OCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  277 

notice  of  their  actions,  and  he  who  thinks  that  these  two  roots  of  almost  all  the 
injustice  and  contention  that  so  disturb  human  life,  are  not  early  to  be  weeded 
out,  and  contrary  habits  introduced,  neglects  the  proper  season  to  lay  the  found- 
ations of  a  good  and  worthy  man.  To  do  this,  I  imagine,  these  following  things 
may  somewhat  conduce. 

CRAVING. 

100.  1.  That  a  child  should  never  be  suffered  to  have  what  he  craves,  much 
less  what  he  cries  for,  I  had  said,  or  so  much  as  speaks  for.  But  that  being  apt 
to  be  misunderstood  and  interpreted  as  if  I  meant  a  child  should  never  speak  to 
his  parents  for  any  thing,  which  will  perhaps  be  thought  to  lay  too  great  a  curb 
oil  the  minds  of  children,  to  the  prejudice  of  that  love  and  aftection  which 
should  be  between  them  and  their  parents,  I  shall  explain  myself  a  little  more 
particularly.  It  is  fit  that  they  should  have  liberty  to  declare  their  wants  to 
their  parents,  and  that  with  all  tenderness  they  should  be  hearkened  to,  and 
supplied  at  least  whilst  they  are  very  little.  But  it  is  one  thing  to  say,  I  am 
hungry;  another  to  say,  I  would  have  roast-meat.  Having  declared  their 
wants,  tlieir  natural  wants,  the  pain  they  feel  from  hunger,  thirst,  cold,  or  any 
other  necessity  of  nature,  it  is  the  duty  of  their  parents,  and  those  about  them, 
to  relieve  them ;  but  children  must  leave  it  to  the  choice  and  ordering  of  their 
parents  what  they  think  properest  for  them,  and  how  much,  and  must  not  be 
permitted  to  choose  for  themselves,  and  say,  I  would  have  wine,  or  white  bread ; 
the  very  naming  of  it  should  make  them  lose  it. 

101.  That  which  parents  should  take  care  of  here,  is  to  distinguish  between 
the  wants  of  fancy  and  those  of  nature,  which  Horace  has  weU  taught  them  to 
do  in  this  verse, 

'•  Quels  humana  sibi  doleat  natura  negatis." 

Those  are  truly  natural  wants,  which  reason  alone,  without  some  other  help, 
is  not  able  to  fence  against  nor  keep  from  disturbing  us.  The  pains  of  sickness  _ 
and  hurts,  hunger,  thirst,  and  cold,  want  of  sleep  and  rest,  or  relaxation  of  the 
part  wearied  with  labor,  are  what  all  men  feel,  and  the  best  disposed  mind  can 
not  but  be  sensible  of  their  uneasiness,  and  therefore  ought,  by  fit  applications. 
to  seek  their  removal,  though  not  with  impatience,  or  over-great  haste,  upon 
the  first  approaches  of  them,  where  delay  does  not  threaten  some  irreparable 
harm.  The  pains  that  come  from  the  necessities  of  nature,  are  monitors  to  us 
to  beware  of  greater  mischiefs,  which  they  are  the  forerunners  of,  and  therefore 
they  must  not  be  wholly  neglected,  nor  strained  too  far.  But  yet,  the  more 
children  can  be  inured  to  hardships  of  this  kind,  by  a  wise  care  to  make  them 
stronger  in  body  iuid  mind,  the  better  it  will  be  for  them.  I  need  not  here  give 
any  caution  to  keep  within  the  bounds  of  doing  them  good,  and  to  take  care 
that  what  children  are  made  to  suffer  should  neither  break  their  spirits,  nor  in- 
jure tlieir  health,  parents  being  but  too  apt  of  themselves  to  incline,  more  than 
they  should,  to  the  softer  side. 

But  whatever  compliance  the  necessities  of  nature  may  require,  the  wants  of 
fancy  children  should  never  be  gratified  in,  nor  suffered  to  mention.  The  very 
speaking  for  any  such  thing  should  make  them  lose  it.  Clothes,  when  they 
need,  tliey  must  have ;  but  if  they  speak  for  this  stuff,  or  that  color,  they  should 
be  sure  to  go  witliout  it.  Not  that  I  would  have  parents  purposely  cross  the 
desires  of  their  ciiildren  in  matters  of  indifferency ;  on  the  contrary,  where 
their  carriage  deserves  it,  and  one  is  sure  it  will  not  corrupt  or  effeminate  tlieir 


•378  l,OCKE  ox  EDUCATION. 

minds,  and  make  them  fond  of  trifles,  I  think  all  things  should  be  contrived,  as 
much  as  could  be,  to  their  satisfaction,  that  they  might  find  the  ease  and  pleas- 
ure of  doing  well.  The  best  for  children  is,  that  they  should  not  place  any 
pleasure  in  such  things  at  all,  nor  regulate  their  delight  by  their  fencies;  but  be 
indifferent  to  all  that  nature  has  made  so.  This  is  what  their  parents  and 
teachers  should  chiefly  aim  at ;  but  till  this  be  obtained,  all  that  I  oppose  here, 
is  the  liberty  of  asking ;  which,  in  these  things  of  conceit,  ought  to  be  restrained 
by  a  con.stant  forfeiture  annexed  to  it. 

This  may  perhaps  be  thought  a  little  too  severe,  by  the  natural  indulgence 
of  tender  parents,  but  yet  it  is  no  more  than  necessary.  For  since  the  method 
I  propose  is  to  banish  the  rod,  this  restraint  of  their  tongues  will  be  of  great 
use  to  settle  that  awe  we  have  elsewhere  spoken  of  and  to  keep  up  in  them  the 
respect  and  reverence  due  to  their  parents.  Next,  it  will  teach  them  to  keep 
in,  and  so  master  their  inclinations.  By  this  means  they  will  be  brought  to 
learn  the  art  of  stifling  their  desires,  as  scon  as  they  rise  up  in  them,  when 
they  are  easiest  to  be  subdued.  For  giving  vent,  gives  life  and  strength  to  our 
appetites,  and  he  that  has  the  confidence  to  turn  his  wishes  into  demands,  will 
be  but  a  little  way  from  thinking  he  ought  to  obtain  them.  This  I  am  sure  of, 
every  one  can  more  easily  bear  a  denial  from  himself,  than  from  anybody  else. 
'They  should  tlierefore  be  accustomed  betimes  to  consult  and  make  use  of  their 
•reason,  before  they  give  allowance  to  their  inclinations.  It  is  a  great  step  to- 
wards the  mastery  of  our  de-^^ires,  to  give  this  stop  to  them,  and  shut  them  up 
in  silence.  This  habit,  got  by  children,  of  staying  the  forwardness  of  their 
fancies,  and  deliberating  whether  it  be  fit  or  no  before  they  speak,  will  be  of  no 
small  advantage  to  them  in  matters  of  greater  consei|uence  in  the  future  course 
of  their  lives.  For  that  which  I  can  not  too  often  inculcate,  is  that  whatever 
the  matter  be,  about  which  it  is  conver.-^ant,  whether  great  or  small,  the  main 
{I  had  almost  said  only)  thing  to  be  considered,  in  every  action  of  a  child  is, 
what  influence  it  will  have  upon  his  mind :  what  habit  it  tends  to.  and  is  like 
to  settle  in  him ;  how  it  will  become  him  when  he  is  bigger ;  and,  if  it  be  en- 
-oouraged,  whither  it  will  lead  him  when  he  is  grown  up. 

My  meaning,  therefore,  is  not.  that  children  should  purposely  bo  made  uneasy; 
this  would  relish  too  much  of  inhumanity  and  ill-nature,  and  be  apt  to  infect 
them  with  it.  They  should  be  brought  to  deny  their  appetites,  and  their  minds 
as  well  as  bodies,  be  made  vigorous,  easy,  and  strung,  by  the  custom  of  having 
their  inclinations  in  subje-ition,  and  their  bodies  exercised  with  hardships ;  but 
all  this  without  giving  ti-.sm  any  mark  or  apprehension  of  ill-will  towards  them. 
The  constant  loss  of  what  they  craved  or  carved  to  themselves  should  teach 
them  modesty,  submission,  and  a  power  to  forbear;  but  the  rewarding  their 
modesty  and  silence,  hy  giving  them  what  they  liked,  should  also  assure  them 
of  the  love  of  those  who  rigorously  exacted  this  obedience.  The  contenting 
themselves  now,  in  the  want  of  what  they  wished  for,  is  a  virtue  that  another 
time  should  be  rewarded  with  what  is  suited  and  acceptable  to  them ;  which 
should  be  bestowed  on  them  as  if  it  were  a  natural  consequence  of  their  good 
behavior,  and  not  a  bargain  about  it.  But  you  will  lose  your  labor,  and,  what 
is  more,  their  love  and  reverence  too,  if  they  can  receive  from  others  what  you 
<lony  them.  This  is  to  be  kept  vcr}'  staunch,  and  carefully  to  be  watched. 
And  here  the  servants  come  again  in  my  wa}'. 


LOCKE  ON  Em  CATION. 


102.  If  this  be  begun  by  times,  and  they  accustom  themselves  early  to  silence 
their  desires,  this  useful  habit  will  settle  them  ;  and,  as  they  come  to  grow  up 
in  age  and  discretion,  they  may  be  allowed  greater  Uberty ;  when  reason  comes 
to  speak  in  them,  and  not  passion.  For  whenever  reason  would  speak,  it  should 
be  hearkened  to.  But.  as  they  should  never  be  heard,  when  they  speak  for 
any  particular  thing  they  would  have,  unless  it  be  first  proposed  to  the*  ;  so 
they  should  always  be  heard,  and  fairly  and  kindly  answered,  when  they  ask 
after  any  thing  they  would  know,  and  desire  to  be  informed  about.  Curiosity 
should  V)c  as  carefull}'  cherished  in  children,  as  other  appetites  suppressed. 

RECREATION'. 

However  strict  a  hand  is  to  be  kept  upon  all  desires  of  fancy,  yet  there  is  one 
case  wherein  fancy  must  be  permitted  to  speak,  and  be  hearkened  to  also.  Recre- 
ation is  as  necessary  as  labor  or  food ;  but  because  there  can  be  no  recreation 
without  delight,  which  depends  not  always  on  reason,  but  oftener  on  fancy,  it 
must  be  permitted  children  not  only  to  divert  themselves,  but  to  do  it  after 
their  own  fashion,  provided  it  be  innocentl}-,  and  without  prejudice  to  their 
health  ;  and  therefore  m  this  case  they  should  not  be  denied,  if  they  proposed 
any  particular  kind  of  recreation;  though  I  think,  in  a  well-ordered  education, 
they  will  seldom  be  brought  to  the  necessity  of  a.^king  any  such  liberty.  Care 
should  be  taken  that  what  is  of  advantage  to  them,  they  should  always  do  with 
delight ;  and,  before  they  are  wearied  with  one,  they  should  be  timely  diverted 
to  some  other  useful  employment.  But  if  they  are  not  yet  brought  to  that  de- 
gree of  perfection,  that  one  way  of  improvement  can  be  made  a  recreation  to 
them,  they  must  be  let  loose  to  the  childish  play  they  fancy,  which  they  should 
he  weaned  from,  by  being  made  surfeited  of  it ;  but  from  things  of  use,  that 
they  are  employed  in,  they  should  always  be  sent  away  with  an  appetite ;  at 
least  be  dismissed  before  they  are  tired,  and  grow  quite  sick  of  it ;  that  so  they 
may  return  to  it  again,  as  to  a  pleasure  that  diverts  them.  For  j-ou  must  never 
think  them  set  right,  till  they  can  find  delight  in  the  practice  of  laudable  things: 
and  the  useful  exercises  of  the  body  and  mind,  taking  their  turns,  make 
their  lives  and  improvement  pleasant  in  a  continued  train  of  recreations, 
wherein  the  wearied  part  is  constantly  relieved  and  refreshed.  Whether  this 
can  be  done  in  every  temper,  or  whether  tutors  and  parents  will  be  at  the  pains, 
and  have  the  discretion  and  patience  to  bring  them  to  this,  I  know  not ;  but 
that  it  ma}'  be  done  in  most  children,  if  a  right  course  be  taken  to  raise  in  them 
the  desire  of  credit,  esteem,  and  reputation,  I  do  not  at  all  doubt.  And  when 
they  have  so  much  true  life  put  into  them,  they  may  freely  be  talked  with  about 
what  most  delights  them,  and  be  directed  or  let  loose  to  it,  so  that  they  may 
perceive  that  they  are  beloved  and  cherished,  and  that  those  under  whose  tui- 
tion they  are,  are  not  enemies  to  their  satisfaction.  Such  a  management  will 
make  them  in  love  with  the  hand  that  directs  them,  and  the  virtue  they  are 
directed  to. 

This  farther  advantage  may  be  made  by  a  free  liberty  permitted  them  in  their 
recreations,  that  it  will  discover  their  natural  tempers,  show  their  inclinations 
and  aptitudes,  and  thereby  direct  wise  parents  in  the  choice,  both  of  the  course 
of  life  and  employment  they  shall  design  them  for,  and  of  fit  remedies  in  the 


280  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

mean  time,  to  be  applied  to  whatever  bent  of  nature  tliey  may  ol)serve  most 
likely  to  mislead  any  of  their  children. 

103.  2.  Children,  who  live  together,  often  strive  for  mastery,  whose  wills 
shall  carry  it  over  the  rest ;  whoever  begins  the  contest,  should  be  sure  to  be 
crcssed  in  it.  But  not  only  that,  but  they  should  be  taught  to  have  all  the  defer-^ 
ence,  complaisance,  and  civility  one  for  the  other  imaginable.  This,  when  they 
see  it  procures  them  respect,  love,  and  esteem,  and  that  they  lose  no  superiority 
by  it,  they  will  take  more  pleasure  in,  than  in  insolent  domineering,  for  so  plainly 
is  the  other.    ' 

COMPLAINTS. 

The  accusations  of  children  one  against  another,  which  usually  are  but  the- 
clamors  of  anger  and  revenge,  desiring  aid,  should  not  be  favorably  received  nor 
hearkened  to.  It  weakens  and  effeminates  their  minds  to  suff"er  them  to  com- 
plain; and  if  thej^  endure  sometimes  crossing  or  pain  from  others,  without  being 
permitted  to  think  it  strange  or  intolerable,  it  will  do  them  no  harm  to  learn 
sufferance,  and  harden  them  early.  But,  though  you  give  no  countenance  to 
the  complaints  of  the  querulous,  yet  take  care  to  curb  the  insolence  and  ill-na- 
ture of  the  injurious.  When  you  observe  it  yourself!  reprove  it  before  the  in- 
jured party  •  but  if  the  complaint  be  of  something  really  worth  your  notice  and. 
prevention  another  time,  then  reprove  the  offender  by  himself  alone,  out  of 
sight  of  him  that  complained,  and  make  him  go  and  ask  pardon,  and  make 
reparation:  which  coming  thus,  as  it  were,  from  himself,  will  be  the  more 
cheerfully  performed,  and  more  kindlj'  received,  the  love  strengthened  between 
them,  and  a  custom  of  civility  grow  familiar  amongst  your  children. 

LIBERALITY. 

104.  3.  As  to  having  and  possessing  of  things,  teach  them  to  part  with  what 
they  have,  easily  and  freely  to  their  friends,  and  let  them  find  by  experience, 
that  the  most  liberal  has  always  most  plenty,  with  esteem  arid  commendation 
to  boot,  and  they  will  quickly  learn  to  practice  it.  This,  I  imagine,  will  make 
brothers  and  sisters  kinder  and  civiller  to  one  another,  and  consequently  to 
others,  than  twenty  rules  about  good  manners,  with  which  children  are  ordina- 
rily perplexed  and  cumbered.  Covetousness,  and  the  desire  of  having  in  our 
possession  and  under  our  dominion,  more  than  we  have  need  of  being  the  root 
of  all  evil,  should  be  early  and  carefully  weeded  out,  and  the  contrary  quality, 
or  a  readiness  to  impart  to  others,  implanted.  This  should  be  encouraged  by 
great  commendation  and  credit,  and  constantly  taking  care  that  he  loses  nothing 
by  his  liberality.  Let  all  the  instances  he  gives  of  such  freeness,  be  always 
repaid,  and  with  interest,  and  let  him  sensibly  perceive,  that  the  kindness  he 
shows  to  others  is  no  ill  husbandry  for  himself,  but  that  it  brings  a  return  of 
kindness,  both  from  those  that  receive  it,  and  those  who  look  on.  Make  this  a 
contest  among  children,  who  shall  outdo  one  another  this  way.  And  by  this 
means,  by  a  constant  practice,  children  having  made  it  easy  to  themselves  to 
part  with  what  they  have,  good-nature  may  be  settled  in  them  into  an  habit, 
and  they  may  take  pleasure,  and  pique  themselves  in  being  kind,  liberal,  and 
civil  to  others. 


If  liberality  ought  to  be  encouraged,  certainly  great  care  is  to  be  taken  tha\< 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  281 

children  transgress  not  the  rules  of  justice;  and  whenever  they  do,  they  should 
be  set  right,  and,  if  there  be  occasion  for  it,  severely  rebuked. 

Our  first  actions  being  guided  more  by  self-love  than  reason  or  retiectiou,  it 
is  no  wonder  that  in  children  they  should  be  very  apt  to  deviate  from  the  just 
measures  of  right  and  wrong,  which  are  in  the  mind  the  result  of  improved  rea- 
son and  serious  meditation.  This  the  more  the}''  are  apt  to  mistake,  the  more 
careful  guard  ought  to  be  kept  over  them,  and  every  the  least  slip  in  this  great 
social  virtue  taken  notice  of  and  rectified ;  and  that  in  things  of  the  least 
weight  and  moment,  both  to  instruct  their  ignorance,  and  prevent  ill  habits, 
which,  from  small  beginnings,  in  pins  and  cherry-stones,  will,  if  let  alone,  grow 
up  to  higjier  frauds,  and  be  in  danger  to  end  at  last  in  down  right  hardened  dis- 
honesty. The  first  tendency  to  any  injustice  that  appears,  must  be  suppressed 
with  a  show  of  wonder  and  abhorrency  in  the  parents  and  governors.  But 
because  children  can  not  well  comprehend  what  injustice  is,  till  thej'  understand 
property,  and  how  particular  persons  come  by  it,  the  safest  way  to  secure  hon- 
esty is  to  lay  the  foundations  of  it  early  in  liberality,  and  ati  easiness  to  part 
with  to  others  Avhatever  they  have,  or  like,  themselves.  This  )nay  be  taught 
them  early,  before  they  have  language  and  understanding  enougn  to  form  dis- 
tinct notions  of  property,  and  to  know  what  is  theirs  by  a  peculiar  right  exclu- 
sive of  others.  And  since  children  seldom  have  any  thing  but  by  gift,  and  that 
for  the  most  part  from  their  parents,  they  may  be  at  first  taught  not  to  take  or 
keep  any  thing  but  what  is  given  them  by  those  whom  they  take  to  have  a 
power  over  it ;  and,  as  their  capacities  enlarge,  other  rules  and  cases  of  justice, 
and  rights  concerning  '-meum"  and  "tuum,"  may  be  proposed  and  inculcated. 
If  any  act  of  injustice  in  them  appears  to  proceed,  not  from  mistake,  but  per- 
verseness  in  their  wills,  when  a  gentle  rebuke  and  shame  will  not  reform  this 
irregular  and  covetous  inclination,  rougher  remedies  must  be  apphed ;  and  it  is 
but  for  the  father  or  tutor  to  take  and  keep  from  them  something  that  they 
value  and  think  their  own ;  or,  order  somebody  else  to  do  it,  and  b}  such  in- 
stances make  them  sensible,  what  little  advantage  they  are  like  to  make,  by  pos- 
sessing themselves  unjustly  of  what  is  another's,  whilst  there  are  in  tho  world 
stronger  and  more  men  than  they.  But  if  an  ingenuous  detestation  of  this 
shameful  vice  be  but  carefully  and  early  instilled  into  them,  as  I  think  ii  may, 
that  is  the  true  and  genuine  method  to  obviate  this  crime,  and  will  be  a  better 
guard  against  dishonesty,  than  any  considerations  drawn  from  interest ;  habits 
working  more  constantly,  and  with  greater  facility,  than  reason  ;  which,  when 
we  have  most  need  of  it,  is  seldom  fairly  consulted,  and  more  rarely  obeyed 

CRYING. 

105.  Crying  is  a  fault  that  should  not  be  tolerated  in  cuildren  ;  not  only  tor 
the  unpleasant  and  unbecoming  noise  it  fills  the  house  with,  out  for  more  con- 
siderable reasons,  in  reference  to  tho  children  themselves,  which  is  to  be  our 
aim  in  education. 

Their  crying  is  of  two  sorts ;  either  stubborn  and  domineering,  ^r  querulous 
and  whining. 

1.  Their  crying  is  very  often  a  striving  for  mastery,  and  an  open  Qu-claration. 
of  their  insolence  or  obstinacy:  when  they  have  not  the  power  to  obtam  their 
desire,  they  will,  by  their  clamor  and  sobbing,  maintain  their  title  and  light  to 
it.     This  is  an  avowed  contimiing  of  their  claim,  and  a  sort  of  renionsirnnce 


282  l,0(  KK  ON    KDl  CATION. 

against  the  oppressi'^u  and  injustice  of  those  who  denj'  thein  what  they  liave  a 
mind  to. 

106.  2.  So'netimes  their  crying  is  the  effect  of  pain  or  true  sorrow,  and  a  be- 
moaning themselves  under  it. 

The^e  two,  if  carefull}'  observed,  may,  by  tlie  mien,  look,  and  actions,  and 
particularly  by  the  tone  of  their  crying,  be  easily  distinguished ;  but  neitlier 
of  them  must  be  suffered,  much  less  encouraged. 

1.  The  obstinate  or  stomachful  crying  should  by  no  means  be  permitted;  be- 
cause it  is  but  another  way  of  flattering  their  desires,  and  encouraging  those 
pas-ions,  which  it  is  our  main  business  to  subdue ;  and  if  it  be,  as  otten  it  is, 
upon  the  receiving  any  correction,  it  quite  defeats  all  the  good  effects  of  it ;  for 
any  chastisement  which  leaves  them  in  this  declared  opposition,  only  serves  to 
make  them  worse.  The  restraints  and  punishments  laid  on  children  are  all 
misapplied  and  lest,  as  far  as  they  do  not  prevail  over  their  wills,  teach  them  to 
submit  their  passions,  and  make  their  minds  supple  and  pliant  to  what  their 
parents'  reason  advises  them  now,  and  so  prepare  them  to  obey  what  their  own 
reason  should  advise  hereafter.  But  if  in  any  thing  wherein  they  are  crossed, 
they  may  bo  suffered  to  go  away  crying,  they  confirm  themselves  in  their  de- 
sires, and  cherish  the  ill  humor  with  a  declaration  of  their  riglit,  and  a  resolu- 
tion to  satisfy  their  inclinations  the  first  opportunity.  This,  therefore,  is  another 
argument  against  the  frequent  use  of  blows  ;  for,  whenever  you  come  to  that 
extremity,  it  is  not  enough  to  whip  or  beat  them  ;  you  must  do  it  till  you  find 
you  have  subdued  their  minds ;  till  with  submission  and  patience  they  yield  to 
the  correction,  which  you  shall  best  discover  by  their  crying,  and  their  ceasing 
from  it  upon  3-our  bidding.  Without  this,  the  beating  of  children  is  but  a  pas- 
sionate tyrannj-  over  them ;  and  it  is  mere  cruelty,  and  not  correction,  to  put 
their  bodies  in  pain,  without  doing  their  minds  any  good.  As  this  gives  us  a 
reason  why  children  should  seldom  be  corrected,  so  it  also  prevents  their  being 
so.  For  if  whenever  they  are  chastised,  it  were  done  thus  without  passion, 
soberly  and  yet  effectually  too,  laying  on  the  blows  and  smart,  not  furiously  and 
all  at  once,  but  slowly,  with  reasoning  between,  and  with  observation  how  it 
wrought,  stopping  when  it  had  made  them  pliant,  penitent,  and  yielding;  they 
would  seldom  need  the  like  punishment  again,  being  made  careful  to  avoid  the 
fault  that  deserved  it.  Besides,  by  this  means,  as  the  punishment  would  not  be 
lost,  for  being  roo  little,  and  not  effectual ;  so  it  would  be  kept  from  being  too 
much,  if  we  gave  off  as  soon  as  we  perceived  it  reached  the  mind,  and  that 
was  bettered.  For,  since  the  chiding  or  beating  of  children  should  be  always 
the  least  that  possibly  may  be,  that  which  is  laid  on  in  the  heat  of  anger,  sel- 
dom observes  that  measure,  but  is  commonly  more  than  it  should  be,  though  it 
prove  less  than  enough. 

107.  2.  Many  children  are  apt  to  cry  upon  any  little  pain  they  suffer,  and 
the  least  harm  that  befalls  them,  puts  them  into  complaints  and  bawimg.  This 
few  children  avoid;  for  it  being  the  first  and  natural  way  to  declare  their  suf- 
ferings or  wants,  before  they  can  speak,  the  compassion  that  is  thought  due  to 
that  tender  age  foolishly  encourages,  and  continues  it  in  them  long  after  they 
can  speak.  It  is  the  duty,  I  confess,  of  those  about  children,  to  compassionate 
them  whenever  they  suffer  any  hurt,  but  not  to  show  it  in  pitying  them. 
Help  and  ease  them  the  best  you  can,  but  by  no  means  bemoan  them.  This 
softens  their  minds,  and  makes  them   yield  to  the  little  harms  that  happen  to 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  283 

them ;  whereby  they  sink  deeper  into  that  part  which  alone  feels,  and  make 
larger  wounds  there,  than  otherwise  they  would.  They  should  be  hardened 
against  all  sufferings,  especially  of  the  body,  and  have  no  tenderness  but  what 
rises  from  an  ingenuous  shame  and  a  quick  sense  of  reputation.  The  many  in- 
conveniences this  life  is  exposed  to,  require  we  should  not  be  too  sensible  of 
every  little  hurt.  What  our  minds  yield  not  to,  makes  but  a  slight  impression, 
and  docs  us  but  very  little  harm;  it  is  the  suffering  of  our  spirits  that  gives 
and  continues  tlie  pain.  This  brawniness  and  insensibility  of  mind,  is  the  best 
armor  we  can  have  against  the  common  evils  and  accidents  of  life  ;  and  being  a 
temper  that  is  got  by  exercise  and  custom,  more  than  any  other  way,  the  prac- 
tice of  it  should  be  begun  betimes,  and  happy  is  he  that  is  taught  it  early. 
That  effeminacy  of  spirit,  which  is  to  be  prevented  or  cured,  and  which  nothing, 
that  I  know,  so  much  increases  in  children  as  crying;  so  nothing,  on  the  other 
side,  so  much  checks  and  restrains,  as  their  being  hindered  from  that  sort  of 
complaining.  In  the  little  harms  they  suffer,  from  knocks  and  falls,  they  should 
not  be  pitied  for  falling,  but  bid  do  so  again;  which,  besides  that  it  stops  tlieir 
crying,  is  a  better  way  to  cure  their  heedlessness,  and  prevent  their  tumbling 
another  time,  than  either  chiding  or  bemoaning  them.  But,  let  the  hurts  they 
receive  be  what  thej^  will,  stop  their  crying,  and  that  will  give  them  more  quiet 
and  ease  at  present,  and  harden  them  for  the  future. 

108.  The  former  sort  of  crying  requires  severity  to  silence  it;  and  where  a 
look,  or  po-sitive  command,  will  not  do  it,  blows  must ;  for  it  proceeding  from 
pride,  obstinacy,  and  stomach,  the  will,  where  the  fault  lies,  must  be  bent,  and 
made  to  comply,  by  a  rigor  sufiBcient  to  master  it ;  but  this  latter,  being  ordina- 
rily from  softness  of  mind,  a  quite  contrary  cause  ought  to  be  treated  with  a 
gentler  hand.  Persuasion,  or  diverting  the  thoughts  another  way,  or  laughing 
at  their  whining,  may  perhaps  be  at  first  the  proper  method.  But  for  this,  the 
circumstances  of  the  thing,  and  the  particular  temper  of  the  child,  must  be  con- 
sidered ;  no  certain  invariable  rules  can  be  given  about  it ;  but  it  nmst  be  left 
to  the  prudence  of  the  parents  or  tutor.  But  this  I  think  I  may  say  in  general, 
that  there  should  be  a  constant  discountenancing  of  this  sort  of  crying  also ; 
and  that  the  father,  by  his  authority,  should  always  stop  it,  mixing  a  greater 
degree  of  roughness  in  his  looks  or  words,  proportionably  as  the  child  is  of  a 
greater  age,  or  a  sturdier  temper ;  but  always,  let  it  be  enough  to  silence  their 
whimpering,  and  put  an  end  to  the  disorder. 

FOOL-HARDINESS. 

109.  Cowardice  and  courage  are  so  nearly  related  to  the  fore-mentioned  tem- 
pers, that  it  may  not  be  amiss  here  to  take  notice  of  them.  Fear  is  a  passion, 
that,  if  rightly  governed,  has  its  use.  And  though  self-love  seldom  fails  to  keep 
it  watchful  and  high  enough  in  us,  yet  there  may  be  an  excess  on  the  daring 
■side ;  fool-hardiness  and  insensibility  of  danger  being  as  little  reasonable,  as 
trembling  and  shrinking  at  the  approach  of  every  little  evil.  Fear  was  given 
us  as  a  monitor  to  quicken  our  industry,  and  keep  us  upon  our  guard  against 
the  approaches  of  evil;  and,  therefore,  to  have  no  apprehension  of  mischief  at 
hand,  not  to  make  a  just  estimate  of  the  danger,  but  heedlessly  to  run  into  it, 
^e  the  hazard  what  it  will,  without  considering  of  what  use  or  consequence  it 
may  be ;  is  not  the  resolution  of  a  rational  creature,  but  brutish  fury.  Those 
who  have  children  of  this  temper,  have  nothing  to  do  but  a  little  to  awaken 


284  I.OCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

their  reason,  which  self-pre>frv;ition  will  quickly  dispose  them  to  hearken  top. 
unless  (which  is  usually  the  case)  some  other  passion  hurries  them  on  headlong,, 
without  sense,  and  without  consideration.  A  di.slike  of  evil  is  so  natural  to 
mankind,  that  nobody,  I  think,  can  be  without  fear  of  it ;  fear  being  nothing 
but  an  uneasiness  under  the  apprehension  of  that  coming  upon  us  which  we 
dishke.  And  therefore,  whenever  any  one  runs  into  danger,  we  may  say  it  is 
under  the  conduct  of  ignorance,  or  the  command  of  some  more  imperious  pas- 
sion, nobody  being  so  much  an  enemy  to  himself  as  to  come  within  the  reach 
of  evil  out  of  free  choice,  and  court  danger  for  danger's  sake.  If  it  be  there- 
fore pride,  vain-glory,  or  rage,  that  silences  a  child's  fear,  or  makes  him  not 
hearken  to  its  advice,  those  are  by  fit  means  to  be  abated,  that  a  little  consid- 
eration may  allay  his  heat,  and  make  him  bethink  himself  whether  this  attempt 
be  worth  the  venture.  But  this  being  a  fault  that  children  are  not  so  often 
guiltj"^  of,  I  shall  not  be  more  particular  in  its  cure.  Weakness  of  spirit  is  the 
more  common  defect,  and  therefore  will  require  the  greater  care. 

Fortitude  is  the  guard  and  support  of  the  other  virtues;  and  without  courage 
a  man  will  scarce  keep  steady  to  his  duty,  and  fill  up  the  character  of  a  truly 
worth}'  man. 

CODRAGE. 

Courage,  that  makes  us  bear  up  against  dangers  that  we  fear,  and  evils  that 
we  feel,  is  of  great  use  in  an  estate,  as  ours  is  in  this  life,  exposed  to  assaults 
on  all  hands;  and  therefore  it  is  very  advisable  to  get  children  into  this  armor 
as  early  as  we  can.  Natural  temper,  I  confess,  does  here  a  great  deal ;  but 
even  where  that  is  defective,  and  the  heart  is  in  itself  weak  and  timorous,  it 
may,  by  a  right  management,  be  brought  to  a  better  resolution.  What  is  to  be 
done  to  prevent  breaking  children's  spirits  by  frightful  apprehensions  instilled 
into  them  when  young,  or  bemoaning  themselves  under  every  little  suffering,  I 
have  already  taken  notice.  How  to  harden  their  tempers,  and  raise  their  cour- 
age, if  we  find  them  too  much  subject  to  fear,  is  farther  to  be  considered. 

True  fortitude  I  take  to  be  the  quiet  possession  of  a  man's  self,  and  an  undis- 
turbed doing  his  duty,  whatever  evil  besets,  or  danger  lies  in  his  waj'.  This 
there  are  so  few  men  attain  to,  that  we  are  not  to  expect  it  from  children.  But 
yet  something  may  be  done ;  and  a  wise  conduct,  by  insensible  degrees,  may 
carry  them  farther  than  one  expects. 

The  neglect  of  this  great  care  of  them,  whilst  they  are  young,  is  the  reason, 
perhap.s,  why  there  are  so  few  that  have  this  virtue,  in  its  full  latitude,  wheni 
they  are  men.  I  should  not  say  this  in  a  nation  so  naturall}'  brave  as  ours  is, 
did  I  think  that  true  fortitude  required  nothing  but  courage  in  the  field,  and  a 
contempt  of.  life  in  the  face  of  an  enemy.  This,  I  confess,  is  not  the  least  part 
of  it,  nor  can  be  denied  the  laurels  and  honors  always  justly  due  to  the  valor 
of  those  who  venture  their  lives  for  their  country.  But  yet  this  is  not  all ;  dan- 
gers attack  us  in  other  places  besides  the  field  of  battle ;  and  though  death  be 
the  kiug  of  terrors,  yet  pain,  disgrace,  and  poverty,  have  frightful  looks,  able  tO' 
discompose  most  men,  whom  they  seem  ready  to  seize  on ;  and  there  are  those 
who  contemn  some  of  these,  and  yet  are  heartily  frightened  with  the  other. 
True  fortitude  is  prepared  for  dangers  of  all  kinds,  and  unmoved,  whatsoever 
evil  it  be  that  threatens ;  I  do  not  mean  unmoved  with  any  fear  at  all.  Where 
danger  shows  itself,  apprehension  can  not,  without  stupidity,  be  wanting. 
Where  danger  is,  sense  of  danger  should  be;  and  so  much  fear  as  should  keep 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  285 

US  awake,   and  excite  our  attention,  industry,  and  vigor;  but  not  disturb  the 
calm  use  of  our  reason  nor  hinder  the  execution  of  what  that  dictates. 

COWARDICE. 

The  first  step  to  get  this  noble  and  manly  steadiness,  is,  what  I  have  above- 
mentioned,  carefully  to  keep  children  from  frights  of  all  kinds,  when  they  are 
young.  Let  not  any  fearful  apprehensions  be  talked  into  them,  nor  terrible  ob- 
jects surprise  them.  This  often  so  shatters  and  discomposes  the  spirits,  tliat 
they  never  recover  it  again ;  but  during  their  whole  Ufe,  upon  the  first  sugges- 
tion, or  appearance  of  any  terrifying  idea,  are  scattered  and  confounded ;  the 
body  is  enervated,  and  the  mind  disturbed,  and  the  man  scarce  himself,  or  capa- 
pable  of  any  composed  or  rational  action.  Whether  this  be  from  an  habitual 
motion  of  the  animal  spirits,  introduced  by  the  first  strong  impression ;  or  from 
the  alteration  of  the  constitution,  by  some  more  unaccountable  way;  this  is  cer- 
tain, that  so  it  is.  Instances  of  such,  who  in  a  weak,  timorous  mind  have  born, 
all  their  whole  lives  through,  the  effects  of  a  fright  when  they  were  young,  are 
everywhere  to  be  seen ;  and  therefore,  as  much  as  may  be,  to  be  prevented. 

The  next  thing  is,  by  gentle  degrees,  to  accustom  children  to  those  things 
they  are  too  much  afraid  of  But  here  great  caution  is  to  be  used,  that  you  do  not 
make  too  much  haste,  nor  attempt  this  cure  too  early,  for  fear  lest  you  increase 
the  mischief  instead  of  remedying  it.  Little  ones  in  arms  may  be  easily  kept 
out  of  the  way  of  terrifying  objects,  and  till  they  can  talk  and  understand  what 
is  said  to  them,  are  scarce  capable  of  that  reasoning  and  discourse,  which 
should  be  used  to  let  them  know  there  is  no  harm  in  those  frightful  objects 
which  we  would  make  them  familiar  with,  and  do,  to  that  purpose,  by  gentle 
degrees,  bring  nearer  and  nearer  to  them.  And,  therefore,  it  is  seldom  there  is 
need  of  any  application  to  them  of  this  kind,  till  after  they  can  run  about  and 
talk.  But  yet,  if  it  should  happen,  that  infants  should  have  taken  offense  at 
any  thing  which  can  not  be  easily  kept  out  of  their  way ;  and  that  they  show 
marks  of  terror,  as  often  as  it  comes  in  sight;  all  the  allays  of  fright,  by  divert- 
ing their  thoughts,  or  mixing  pleasant  and  agreeable  appearances  with  it,  must 
be  used,  till  it  be  grown  familiar  and  inoffensive  to  them. 

I  think  we  may  observe,  that  when  children  are  first  born,  all  objects  of  sight 
that  do  not  hurt  the  eyes,  are  indifferent  to  them :  and  they  are  no  more  afraid 
of  a  blackamoor,  or  a  lion,  than  of  their  nurse,  or  a  cat.  What  is  it,  then,  that 
afterwards,  in  certain  mixtures  of  shape  and  color,  comes  to  affright  them  ? 
Nothing  but  the  apprehensions  of  harm  that  accompanies  those  things.  Did  a 
child  suck  every  day  a  new  nurse,  I  make  account  it  would  be  no  more  af- 
frighted with  the  change  effaces  at  six  months  old,  than  at  sixty.  The  reason 
then,  why  it  will  not  come  to  a  stranger,  is,  because,  having  been  accustomed 
to  receive  its  food  and  kind  usage  only  from  one  or  two  that  are  about  it,  the 
child  apprehends,  by  coming  into  the  arms  of  a  stranger,  the  being  taken  from 
what  delights  and  feeds  it,  and  every  moment  supplies  its  wants,  which  it  often 
feels,  and  therefore  fears  when  the  nurse  is  away. 

TIMOROUSNESS. 

The  only  thing  we  naturally  are  afraid  of,  is  pain,  or  loss  of  pleasure.  And 
because  these  are  not  annexed  to  any  shape,  color,  or  size  of  visible  objects,  we 
are  frightened  with  none  of  them,  till  either  we  have  felt  pain  from  them,  or 


280  i.oPKr.  ON  r.nT  (AiiON. 

have  notions  put  into  us  that  they  will  do  us  harm.  The  pleasant  brightness- 
and  luster  of  flame  and  fire  so  delights  children,  that  ft  first  they  always  desire 
to  be  handling  of  it :  but  when  constant  experience  ha.?  convinced  them,  by  the 
exquisite  pain  it  has  put  them  to,  how  cruel  and  unmer'^iful  it  is,  they  are  afraid 
to  touch  it,  and  carefully  avoid  it.  This  behig  the  ground  of  fear,  it  is  not  hard 
to  find  whence  it  arises,  and  how  it  is  to  be  cured  in  all  mistaken  objects  of  ter- 
ror; and  when  the  mind  is  confirmed  against  them,  and  has  got  a  mastery  over 
itself,  and  its  usual  fears  in  lighter  occasions,  it  is  in  good  preparation  to  meel 
more  real  dangers.  Your  child  shrieks,  and  runs  away  at  the  sight  of  a  frog; 
let  another  catch  it,  and  lay  it  down  at  a  good  distance  from  him ;  at  first  ac- 
custom him  to  look  upon  it ;  when  he  can  do  that,  then  to  come  nearer  to  it, 
and  see  it  leap  without  emotion ;  then  to  touch  it  lightl}',  when  it  is  held  fast 
in  another's  hand ;  and  so  on,  till  he  can  come  to  handle  it  as  confidently  as  a 
butterfly,  or  a  sparrow.  By  the  same  way  any  other  vain  terrors  may  be  re- 
moved, if  care  be  taken  that  you  go  not  too  fast,  and  push  not  the  child  on  to 
a  new  degree  of  assurance,  till  he  be  thoroughly  confirmed  in  the  former.  And 
thus  the  young  soldier  is  to  be  trained  on  to  the  warfare  of  life ;  wherein  care 
is  to  be  taken,  that  more  things  be  not  represented  as  dangerous,  than  really 
are  so ;  and  then,  that  whatever  you  observe  him  to  be  more  frightened  at  than, 
he  should,  you  be  sure  to  toll  him  on  to,  by  insensible  degrees,  till  he  at  last, 
quitting  his  fears,  masters  the  difiBculty,  and  comes  off  with  applause.  Suc- 
cesses of  this  kind,  often  repeated,  will  make  him  find,  that  evils  are  not  always 
so  certain,  or  so  great,  as  our  fears  represent  them ;  and  that  the  way  to  avoid 
them  is  not  to  run  away,  or  be  discomposed,  dejected,  and  deterred  by  fear, 
where  either  our  credit  or  duty  requires  us  to  go  on. 

HARDINESS. 

But,  since  the  great  foundation  of  fear  in  children  is  pain,  the  way  to  harden 
and  fortify  children  against  fear  and  danger,  is  to  accustom  them  to  suffer  pain. 
This,  it  is  possible,  will  be  thought  by  kind  parents,  a  very  unnatural  thing  to- 
wards their  children ;  and  by  most,  unreasonable,  to  endeavor  to  reconcile  any 
one  to  the  sense  of  pain,  by  bringing  it  upon  him.  It  will  be  said,  it  may  per- 
haps give  the  child  an  aversion  for  him  that  makes  him  suflTer,  but  can  never 
recommend  to  him  suffering  itself  This  is  a  strange  method.  You  will  not 
have  children  whipped  and  punished  for  their  faults,  but  you  would  have  them 
tormented  for  doing  well,  or  for  tormenting's  sake.  I  doubt  not  but  such  ob- 
jections as  these  will  be  made,  and  I  shall  be  thought  inconsistent  with  myself, 
or  fantastical,  in  proposing  it.  I  confess  it  is  a  tlung  to  be  managed  with  great 
discretion ;  and  therefore  it  fells  not  out  amiss,  that  it  will  not  be  received  or 
relished,  but  by  those  who  consider  well,  and  look  into  the  reason  of  things.  I 
would  not  have  children  much  beaten  for  their  faults,  because  I  would  not  have 
them  think  bodily  pain  the  greatest  punishment;  and  I  would  have  them  when 
they  do  well,  be  sometimes  put  in  pain,  for  the  same  reason,  that  they  might  be 
accustomed  to  bear  it  without  looking  on  it  as  the  greatest  evil.  How  much 
education  may  reconcile  young  people  to  pain  and  sufferance,  the  examples  of 
Sparta  do  sufiBciently  show ;  and  they  who  have  once  brought  themselves  not 
to  think  bodily  pain  the  greatest  of  evils,  or  that  which  they  ought  to  stand 
most  in  fear  of,  have  made  no  small  advance  towards  virtue.  But  I  am  not  so 
"oolish  to  propose  the  Laced;emonian  discipline  in  our  age  or  constitution;  but 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  287 

yet  I  do  say,  that  inuring  children  gently  to  suffer  some  degrees  of  pain  without 
shrinking,  is  a  way  to  gain  firmness  to  their  minds,  and  lay  a  foundation  for 
courage  and  resolution  in  the  future  part  of  their  lives. 

Not  to  bemoan  them,  or  permit  them  to  bemoan  themselves,  on  every  little 
pain  they  suffer,  is  tlie  first  step  to  be  made.  But  of  this  I  have  spoken  else- 
where. 

The  next  thing  is,  sometimes  designedly  to  put  them  in  pain ;  but  care  must 
be  taken  that  this  be  done  when  the  chUd  is  in  good  humor,  and  satisfied  of  the 
good-will  and  kindness  of  him  that  hurts  him,  at  the  time  that  he  does  it. 
There  must  no  marks  of  anger  or  displeasure  on  the  one  side,  nor  compassion 
or  repenting  on  the  other,  go  along  with  it ;  and  it  must  be  sure  to  be  no  more 
than  the  child  can  bear,  without  repining  or  taking  it  amiss,  or  for  a  punish- 
ment. Managed  by  these  degrees,  and  with  such  circumstances,  I  have  seen  a 
child  run  away  laughing,  with  good  smart  blows  of  a  wand  on  his  back,  who 
would  have  cried  for  an  unkind  word,  and  have  been  very  sensible  of  the  chas- 
tisement of  a  cold  look  from  the  same  person.  Satisfy  a  child,  by  a  constant 
course  of  your  care  and  kindness,  that  you  perfectly  love  him ;  and  he  may  by 
degrees  be  accustomed  to  bear  very  painful  and  rough  usage  from  you,  without 
flinching  or  complaining ;  and  this  we  see  children  do  every  day  in  play  one 
with  another.  The  softer  you  find  your  child  is,  the  more  you  are  to  seek  oc- 
casions at  fit  times  thus  to  harden  him.  The  great  art  in  this  is  to  begin  with 
what  is  but  very  little  painful,  and  to  proceed  by  insensible  degrees,  when  you 
are  playing  and  in  good  humor  with  him,  and  speaking  well  of  him;  and  when 
you  have  once  got  him  to  think  himself  made  amends  for  his  suflFering,  by  the 
praise  given  him  for  his  courage ;  when  he  can  take  a  pride  in  giving  such 
marks  of  his  manliness,  and  can  prefer  the  reputation  of  being  brave  and  stout, 
to  the  avoiding  a  little  pain,  or  the  shrinking  under  it ;  you  need  not  despair  in 
time,  and  by  the  assistance  of  his  growing  reason,  to  master  his  timorousness, 
and  mend  the  weakness  of  his  constitution.  As  he  grows  bigger,  he  is  to  be 
set  upon  bolder  attempts  than  his  natural  temper  carries  him  to ;  and  whenever 
he  is  observed  to  flinch  from  what  one  has  reason  to  think  he  would  come  off 
well  in,  if  he  had  but  courage  to  undertake;  that  he  should  be  assisted  in  at 
first,  and  by  degrees  shamed  to,  till  at  last  practice  has  given  more  assurance, 
and  with  it  a  mastery,  which  must  be  rewarded  with  great  praise,  and  the  good 
opinion  of  others,  for  his  performance.  "When  by  these  steps  he  has  got  reso- 
lution enough  not  to  be  deterred  from  what  he  ought  to  do,  by  the  apprehension 
of  danger;  when  fear  does  not,  in  sudden  or  hazardous  occurrences,  discompose 
his  mind,  set  his  body  a  trembling,  and  make  him  unfit  for  action,  or  run  away 
from  it ;  he  has  then  the  courage  of  a  rational  creature ;  and  such  an  hardiness 
we  should  endeavor  by  custom  and  use  to  bring  children  to,  as  proper  occasions 
come  in  our  way. 


110.  One  thing  I  have  frequently  observed  in  children,  that,  when  they  have 
got  possession  of  any  poor  creature,  they  are  apt  to  use  it  ill ;  they  often  tor- 
ment and  treat  verj'^  roughly  young  birds,  butterflies,  and  such  other  poor  ani- 
mals, which  fall  into  their  hands,  and  that  with  a  seeming  kind  of  pleasure. 
This,  I  think,  should  be  watched  in  them;  and  if  they  incline  to  any  such 
cruelty,  they  should  be  taught  the  contrary  usage;  for  the  custom  of  torment- 


•2f8  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

■ing  and  killing  of  beasts  will,  by  degrees,  harden  their  minds  even  towards  men  ; 
and  they  who  delight  in  the  suffering  and  destruction  of  inferior  creatures,  wUl 
not  be  apt  to  be  very  compassionate  or  benign  to  those  of  their  own  kind.  Our 
practice  takes  notice  of  this,  in  the  exclusion  of  butchers  from  juries  of  life  and 
death.  Children  should  from  the  beginning  be  bred  up  in  an  abhorrence  of 
killing  or  tormenting  any  living  creature,  and  be  taught  not  to  spoil  or  destroy  any 
thing  unless  it  be  for  the  preservation  or  advantage  of  some  other  that  is  nobler 
And  truly,  if  the  preservation  of  all  mankind,  as  much  as  in  him  lies,  where 
every  one's  persuasion,  as  indeed  it  is  every  one's  duty,  and  the  true  principle 
to  regulate  our  religion,  politics,  and  moralitj'^  by,  the  world  would  be  much 
quieter,  and  better-natured  than  it  is.  But  to  return  to  our  present  business; 
I  can  not  but  commend  both  the  kindness  and  prudence  of  a  mother  I  knew, 
who  was  wont  always  to  indulge  her  daughters,  when  any  of  them  desired  dogs, 
squirrels,  birds,  or  any  such  things,  as  young  girls  use  to  be  delighted  with ; 
but  then,  when  they  had  them,  they  must  be  sure  to  keep  them  well,  and  look 
diligently  after  them,  that  they  wanted  nothing,  or  were  not  ill  used ;  for,  if 
they  were  negligent  in  their  care  of  them,  it  was  counted  a  great  fault,  which 
often  forfeited  their  possession ;  or,  at  least,  they  failed  not  to  be  rebuked  for  it, 
whereby  they  were  early  taught  diligence  and  good-nature.  And,  indeed,  I 
think  people  should  be  accustomed,  from  their  cradles,  to  be  tender  to  a)',  sensi 
ble  creatures,  and  to  spoil  or  waste  nothing  at  all. 

This  delight  they  take  in  doing  of  mischief  (whereby  I  mean  spoiling  of  any 
■thing  to  no  purpose,  but  more  especially  the  pleasure  they  take  to  put  any  thing 
in  pain  that  is  capable  of  it,)  I  can  not  persuade  myself  to  be  any  other  than  a 
foreign  and  introduced  disposition,  an  habit  borrowed  from  custom  and  conver- 
sation. People  teach  children  to  strike,  and  laugh  when  they  hurt,  or  see  harm 
come  to  others:  and  they  have  the  examples  of  most  about  them  to  confirm 
them  in  it.  All  the  entertainment  of  talk  and  history  is  of  nothing  almost  but 
fighting  and  killing ;  and  the  honor  and  renown  that  is  bestowed  ou  conquerors 
(who  for  the  most  part  are  but  the  great  butchers  of  mankind)  farther  mislead 
growing  youths,  who  by  this  means  come  to  think  slaughter  the  laudable  busi- 
ness of  mankind,  and  the  most  heroic  of  virtues.  By  these  steps  unnatural 
cruelty  is  planted  in  us  ;  and  what  humanity  abhors,  custom  reconciles  and 
recommends  to  us  by  laying  it  in  the  way  to  honor.  Thus,  by  fashion  and 
opinion,  that  comes  to  be  a  pleasure,  which  in  itself  neither  is,  nor  can  be  any 
This  ought  carefully  to  be  watched,  and  early  remedied,  so  as  to  settle  and 
cherish  the  contrary  and  more  natural  temper  of  benignity  and  compassion  in 
the  room  of  it ;  but  still  by  the  same  gentle  methods,  which  are  to  be  applied 
to  the  other  two  faults  before  mentioned.  It  may  not  perhaps  be  unreasonable 
here  to  add  this  farther  caution,  viz.,  that  the  mischiefs  or  harms  that  come  by 
play,  inadvertency,  or  ignorance,  and  were  not  known  to  bo  harms,  or  designed 
for  mischief's  sake,  thougli  they  may  perhaps  be  sometimes  of  considerable  dam- 
age, yet  are  not  at  all,  or  but  very  gently,  to  be  taken  notice  of  For  this,  I 
think,  I  can  not  too  often  inculcate,  that  whatever  miscarriage  a  child  is  guilty 
of,  and  whatever  be  the  consequence  of  it,  the  thing  to  be  regarded  in  taking 
notice  of  it,  is  only  what  root  it  springs  from,  and  what  habit  it  is  like  to  estab- 
lish: and  to  that  the  correction  ought  to  be  directed,  and  the  child  not  to  suffer 
any  punishment  for  any  harm  which  may  have  come  by  his  play  or  inadvert- 
ency.    The  faults  to  be  amencled  lie  in  the  muid  ;  and  if  they  are  such  as  either 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  289 

ajjce  will  cure,  or  no  ill  habits  will  follow  from,  the  present  action,  whatever  dis- 
pleasing circumstances  it  may  have,  is  to  be  passed  by  without  any  animad- 
■version. 

111.  Another  way  to  iustill  sentiments  of  humanity,  and  to  keep  them  lively 
in  young  folks,  will  be  to  accustom  them  to  civility,  in  their  language  and  de- 
portment towards  their  inferiors,  and  the  meaner  sort  of  people,  particularly 
servants.  It  is  not  unusual  to  observe  the  children,  in  gentlemen's  families, 
treat  the  servants  of  the  house  with  domineering  words,  names  of  contempt, 
and  an  imperious  carriage,  as  if  thej'  were  of  another  race,  and  species  beneath 
them.  Whether  ill  example,  the  advantage  of  fortune,  or  their  natural  vanity, 
inspire  this  haughtiness,  it  should  be  prevented,  or  weeded  out ;  and  a  gentle, 
courteous,  affable  carriage  towards  the  lower  ranks  of  men,  placed  in  the  room 
•of  it.  No  part  of  their  superiority  will  be  hereby  lost,  but  the  distinction  in- 
creased, and  their  authority  strengthened,  when  love  in  inferiors  is  joined  to 
outward  respect,  and  an  esteem  of  the  person  has  a  share  in  their  submission ; 
and  domestics  will  pay  a  more  ready  and  cheerful  service,  when  they  find  them- 
selves not  spurned,  because  fortune  has  laid  them  below  the  level  of  others,  at 
their  master's  feet.  Children  should  not  be  suffered  to  lose  the  consideration 
of  human  nature  in  tlie  shufflings  of  outward  conditions ;  the  more  they  have, 
the  better  humored  they  should  be  taught  to  be,  and  the  more  compassionate 
and  gentle  to  those  of  their  brethren,  who  are  placed  lower,  and  have  scantier 
portions.  If  they  are  suffered  from  their  cradles  to  treat  men  ill  and  rudely, 
because  by  their  father's  title,  they  think  they  have  a  little  power  over  them : 
at  best  it  is  ill-bred ;  and,  if  care  be  not  taken,  will,  by  degrees,  nurse  up  their 
natural  pride  into  an  habitual  contempt  of  those  beneath  them ;  and  where 
will  that  probably  end,  but  in  oppression  and  cruelty  ? 

CURIOSITY. 

112.  Curiosity  in  children,  (which  I  had  occasion  just  to  mention,  §102,)  is  but 
an  appetite  after  knowledge,  and  therefore  ought  to  be  encouraged  in  them,  not 
only  as  a  good  sign,  but  as  the  great  instrument  nature  has  provided,  to  remove 
that  ignorance  they  were  born  with,  and  which  without  this  busy  inquisitive- 
ness  will  make  them  dull  and  useless  creatures.  The  ways  to  encourage  it,  and 
keep  it  active  and  busy,  are,  I  suppose,  these  following: — 

1.  Not  to  check  or  discountenance  any  inquiries  he  shall  make,  nor  suffer 
them  to  be  laughed  at ;  but  to  answer  all  his  questions,  and  explain  the  matters 
he  desires  to  know,  so  as  to  make  them  as  much  intelligible  to  him,  as  suits  the 
capacity  of  his  age  and  knowledge.  But  confound  not  his  understanding  with 
explications  or  notions  that  are  above  it,  or  with  the  variety  or  number  of  things 
that  are  not  to  his  present  purpose.  Mark  what  it  is  his  mind  aims  at  in 
the  question,  and  not  what  words  he  expresses  it  in :  and,  when  j^ou  have 
informed  and  satisfied  him  in  that,  you  shall  see  how  his  thoughts  will  enlarge 
themselves,  and  how  by  fit  answers  he  may  be  led  on  farther  than  perhaps  you 
could  imagine.  For  knowledge  is  grateful  to  the  understanding,  as  light  to  the 
eyes:  children  are  pleased  and  delighted  with  it  exceedingly,  especially  if  they 
see  that  their  inquiries  are  regarded,  and  that  their  desire  of  knowing  is 
•encouraged  and  commended.  And  I  doubt  not  but  one  great  reason,  why  many 
children  abandon  themselves  wholly  to  silly  sports,  and  trifle  away  all  their 
time  insipidly,  is,  because  they  have  found  their  curiosity  baulked,  and  their 
inquiries  neglected.     But  had  they  been  tri'atod  with  more  kindness  and  respect. 


290  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

and  their  questions  answered,  as  they  should,  to  their  satislaction,  I  doubt  nor 
but  tliej'  would  have  taken  more  pleasure  in  learning,  and  improving  llieir 
knowledge,  wherein  there  would  be  still  newness  and  variety,  which  is  what 
they  are  dcligiited  with,  than  in  returning  over  and  over  to  tlie  same  plaj'  and 
playthings. 

113.  2.  To  this  serious  answering  their  questions,  and  informing  their  under- 
standings in  what  thej^  desire,  as  if  it  were  a  matter  that  needed  it,  should  be 
added  some  peculiar  wa3^s  of  commendation.  Let  others,  wliom  tliey  esteem, 
be  told  before  their  faces  of  the  knowledge  they  have  in  sucii  and  such  things ; 
and  since  we  are  all,  even  from  our  cradles,  vain  and  proud  creatures,  let  their 
vanity  be  flattered  with  tilings  that  will  do  them  good ;  and  let  their  pride  set 
them  on  work  on  something  which  may  turn  to  their  advantage.  Upon  this 
ground  you  shall  find,  that  there  can  not  be  a  greater  spur  to  the  attaining 
what  you  would  have  the  eMer  learn  and  know  himself,  than  to  set  him  upon 
teaching  it  his  younger  brothers  and  sisters. 

114.  3.  As  children's  inquiries  are  not  to  be  slighted,  so  also  great  care  is  to 
be  taken,  that  they  never  receive  deceitful  and  illuding  answers.  They  easily 
perceive  when  they  are  slighted  or  deceived,  and  quickly  learn  the  trick  of 
neglect,  di.'^simulatiou,  and  falsehood,  which  they  observe  others  to  make  use  of' 
"We  are  not  to  intrench  upon  truth  in  any  conversation,  but  least  of  all  with 
children ;  since,  if  we  play  false  with  them,  we  not  only  deceive  their  expecta- 
tion, and  huider  their  knowledge,  but  corrupt  their  innocence,  and  teach  them- 
the  worst  of  vices.  They  are  travelers  newly  arrived  in  a  strange  country,  of 
which  they  know  nothing  :  we  should,  therefore,  make  conscience  not  to  mislead 
them.  And  though  their  questions  seem  sometimes  not  very  material,  yet  the}' 
should  be  seriously  answered ;  for  however  they  maj^  appear  to  us,  (to  whom 
they  are  long  since  known,)  inquiries  not  worth  making,  they  are  of  moment  to 
those  who  are  wholly  ignorant.  Children  are  strangers  to  all  we  are  acijuainted 
with ;  and  all  the  things  thev  meet  with,  are  at  first  unknown  to  them,  as  they 
once  were  to  us :  and  happy  are  they  who  meet  with  civil  people,  that  will 
comply  with  their  ignorance,  and  help  them  to  get  out  of  it. 

If  you  or  I  should  be  set  down  in  Japan,  with  all  our  prudence  and  knowl- 
edge about  us,  a  conceit  whereof  makes  us  perhaps  so  apt  to  slight  the  thoughts 
and  inquiries  of  children :  should  we,  I  say,  be  set  down  in  Japan,  we  should, 
no  doubt,  (if  we  would  inform  ourselves  of  what  is  there  to  be  known,)  ask  a 
thousand  questions,  which,  to  a  supercilious  or  inconsiderate  Japanese,  would 
seem  very  idle  and  impertinent :  though  to  us  they  would  be  verv  material,  and 
of  importance  to  be  resolved ;  and  we  should  be  glad  to  find  a  man  so  complai- 
sant and  courteous,  as  to  satisfj^  our  demands,  and  instruct  our  ignorance. 

"When  any  new  thing  comes  in  their  way,  children  usualh'  ask  the  common 
question  of  a  stranger,  "What  is  it?  whereby  they  ordinarilj-  mean  nothing  but 
the  name ;  and,  therefore,  to  tell  them  how  it  is  called,  is  usually  the  proper 
answer  to  that  demand.  The  next  question  usually  is,  "What  is  it  for?  And  to 
this  it  should  be  answered  truly  and  directly :  the  use  of  the  thing  should  be 
told,  and  the  way  explained,  how  it  serves  to  such  a  purpose,  as  far  as  their 
capacities  can  comprehend  it;  and  so  of  any  other  circumstances  they  shall  ask 
about  it;  not  turning  them  going,  till  you  have  given  them  all  the  satisfaction 
they  are  capable  of,  and  so  leading  them  by  your  answers  into  farther  ques- 
tions. And  perhaps  to  a  grown  man  such  conversation  will  not  be  altogether 
so  idle  and  insignificant,  as  we  are  apt  to  imagine.     The  native  and  untauulit 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION  09^ 

suggestions  of  inquisitive  children  do  often  offer  things  that  may  set  a  consider- 
ing man's  thoughts  on  work.  And  I  think  there  is  frequently  more  to  he 
learned  from  the  unexpected  questions  of  a  child,  than  the  discourses  of  men, 
who  talk  in  a  road,  according  to  the  notions  they  have  borrowed,  and  the  preju- 
dices of  their  education. 

115.  4.  Perhaps  it  may  not  sometimes  be  amiss  to  excite  their  curiosity,  by 
bringing  strange  and  new  things  in  their  way,  on  purpose  to  engage  their 
inquiry,  and  give  him  occasion  to  inform  themselves  about  them ;  and  if  by 
chance  their  curiosity  leads  them  to  ask  what  they  should  not  know,  it  is  a 
icreat  deal  better  to  tell  them  plainly,  that  it' is  a  thing  that  belongs  not  to  them 
to  know,  than  to  pop  them  off  with  a  falsehood,  or  a  frivolous  answer. 

116.  Pertness,  that  appears  sometimes  so  early,  proceeds  from  a  principle 
that  seldom  accompanies  a  strong  constitution  of  body,  or  ripens  into  a  strong 
judgment  of  mind.  If  it  were  desirable  to  have  a  cliUd  a  more  brisk  talker,  I 
believe  there  might  be  ways  found  to  make  him  so;  but,  I  suppose,  a  wise 
father  had  rather  that  his  son  should  be  able  and  useful,  when  a  man,  than 
pretty  company,  and  a  diversion  to  others,  whilst  a  child ;  though,  if  that  too 
were  to  be  considered,  I  think  I  may  say,  there  is  not  so  much  pleasure  to  have 
a  child  prattle  agreeably,  as  to  reason  well.  Encourage,  therefore,  his  inquisi- 
tiveness  all  you  can,  by  satisfying  his  demands,  and  informing  his  judgment,  as 
far  as  it  is  capable.  When  his  reasons  are  any  way  tolerable,  let  him  find  the 
credit  and  commendation  of  them ;  and  when  they  are  quite  out  of  the  way, 
let  him,  without  being  laughed  at  for  his  mistake,  be  gentl}^  put  into  the  right ; 
and  if  he  show  a  forwardness  to  be  reasoning  about  things  that  come  in  his 
way,  take  care,  as  much  as  you  can,  that  nobody  check  this  inclination  in  him^ 
or  mislead  it  by  captious  or  fallacious  ways  of  talking  with  him :  for,  when  all 
is  done,  this,  as  the  highest  and  most  important  faculty  of  our  minds,  deserves 
the  greatest  care  and  attention  in  cultivating  it;  the  right  improvement  and 
exercise  of  our  reason  being  the  highest  perfection  that  a  man  can  attain  to  in 
this  life. 

SAUNTERING. 

117.  Contrary  to  this  busy  inquisitive  temper,  there  is  sometimes  observable 
in  childi'en  a  listless  carelessness,  a  want  of  regard  to  any  tiling,  and  a  sort  of 
triflmg,  even  at  their  business.  This  sauntering  humor  I  look  on  as  one  of  the 
worst  qualities  can  appear  in  a  child,  as  well  as  one  of  tlie  hardest  to  be  cured, 
where  it  is  natural.  But  it  being  hable  to  be  mistaken  in  some  cases,  care  must 
be  taken  to  make  a  right  judgment  concerning  that  trifling  at  their  books  or 
business,  which  may  sometimes  be  complained  of  in  a  child.  Upon  the  first 
suspicion  a  father  has,  that  his  son  is  of  a  sauntering  temper,  he  must  carefully 
observe  him,  whether  he  be  listless  and  indifierent  in  all  his  actions,  or  wiiethei 
in  some  things  alone  he  be  slow  and  sluggish,  but  in  others  vigorous  and  eager : 
for  though  he  find  that  he  does  loiter  at  his  book,  and  let  a  good  deal  of  the  timo 
he  spends  in  his  chamber  or  study,  run  idly  away,  he  must  not  presently  ctiuclude, 
that  this  is  from  a  sauntering  humor  in  his  temper;  it  may  be  childishness,  and  a 
preferring  something  to  his  study,  which  his  thoughts  run  on ;  and  he  dislikes  hia 
book,  as  is  natural,  because  it  is  forced  upon  him  as  a  task.  To  know  this  perfectly, 
you  must  watch  him  at  play,  when  he  is  out  of  his  place  and  time  of  study,  fol- 
lowing his  own  inclinations;  and  see  there,  whether  he  bestirring  and  active; 
whetlier  he  designs  any  thing,  and  with  labor  and  eagerness  pursues  it.  till  he 


292  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

has  accomplished  what  he  aimed  at;  or  whether  he  lazilj-  and  listlessly  dreams 
away  his  time.  If  this  sloth  be  only  when  he  is  about  his  book,  I  think  it  may 
be  easily  cured ;  if  it  be  iu  his  temper,  it  will  require  a  little  more  pains  and 
attention  to  remedy  it. 

118.  If  you  are  satisfied,  by  his  earnestness  at  plaj',  or  any  thing  else  he  sets 
his  mind  ou,  in  the  intervals  between  his  hours  of  business,  that  he  is  not  of 
himself  inclined  to  laziness,  but  that  only  want  of  relish  of  his  book  makes 
him  negligent  and  sluggish  in  his  application  to  it ;  the  first  step  is  to  try,  by 
talking  to  him  kindly  of  the  folly  and  inconvenience  of  it,  whereby  he  loses  a 
good  part  of  his  time,  which  he  might  have  for  his  diversion:  but  be  sure  to 
talk  calmly  and  kindly,  and  not  much  at  first,  but  only  these  plain  reasons  in 
short.  If  this  prevails,  you  have  gained  the  point  in  the  most  desirable  way, 
which  is  that  of  reason  and  kindness.  If  this  softer  application  prevails  not, 
try  to  shame  him  out  of  it,  by  laughing  at  him  for  it,  asking  every  day,  when 
he  comes  to  the  table,  if  there  be  no  strangers  there,  "  how  long  he  was  that 
day  about  his  business?  "  And  if  he  has  not  done  it,  in  the  time  he  might  be  well 
supposed  to  have  dispatched  it,  expose  and  turn  him  into  ridicule  for  it;  but 
mix  no  chiding,  only  put  on  a  pretty  cold  brow  towards  him,  and  keep  it  tQl  he 
reform ;  and  let  his  mother,  tutor,  and  all  about  him  do  so  too.  If  tliis  work 
not  the  effect  you  desire,  then  teU  him,  "  he  shall  be  no  longer  troubled  with  a 
tutor  to  take  care  of  his  education :  you  will  not  be  at  the  charge  to  have  him 
■spend  his  time  idly  with  him ;  but  since  he  prefers  this  or  that,  [whatever  play 
he  delights  in,]  to  his  book,  that  only  he  shall  do;  "  and  so  in  earnest  set  him 
to  work  on  his  beloved  play,  and  keep  him  steadily,  and  in  earnest  to  it,  morn- 
ing and  afternoon,  till  he  be  fully  surfeited,  and  would,  at  any  rate,  change  it 
for  some  hours  at  his  book  again :  but  when  you  thus  set  him  his  task  of  play, 
you  must  be  sure  to  look  after  him  yourself^  or  set  somebody  else  to  do  it,  that 
may  constantly  see  him  employed  in  it,  and  that  he  be  not  permitted  to  be  idle 
at  that  too.  I  say,  yourself  look  after  him ;  for  it  is  worth  the  father's  while, 
whatever  business  he  has,  to  bestow  two  or  three  days  upon  his  son,  to  cure  so 
great  a  mischief  as  his  sauntering  at  his  business. 

119.  This  is  what  I  propose,  if  it  be  idleness,  not  from  his  general  temper, 
but  a  peculiar  or  acquired  aversion  to  learning,  which  you  must  be  careful  to 
examine  and  distinguish.  But  though  you  have  your  eyes  upon  him,  to  watch 
what  he  does  with  the  time  which  he  has  at  his  own  disposal,  yet  you  must  not 
let  him  perceive  that  you,  or  any  body  else  do  so  ;  for  that  may  hinder  him  from 
following  his  own  inclinations,  which  he  being  full  of,  and  not  daring,  for  fear 
of  you,  to  prosecute  what  his  head  and  heart  are  set  upon,  he  may  neglect  all 
other  things,  which  then  he  relishes  not,  and  so  may  seem  to  be  idle  and  list- 
less, when,  in  truth,  it  is  nothing  but  being  intent  ou  that,  which  the  fear  of 
your  eye  or  knowledge  keeps  him  from  executing.  To  be  clear  in  this  point, 
the  observation  must  be  made  when  you  are  out  of  the  way,  and  he  not  so 
much  as  under  the  restraint  of  a  suspicion  that  any  body  has  an  eye  upon  him. 
In  those  seasons  of  perfect  freedom,  let  somebody  you  can  trust  mark  how  he 
spends  his  time,  whether  he  inactively  loiters  it  away,  when,  without  any  check, 
ho  is  left  to  his  own  incUnation.  Thus,  by  his  emplo3ang  of  such  times  of  lib- 
erty, you  will  easily  discern  whether  it  be  listlessness  in  his  temper,  or  aversion 
■to  his  book,  that  makes  him  saunter  away  his  time  of  study. 

120.  If  some  defect  in  his  constitution  has  cast  a  damp  on  his  mind,  and  he 
")e  naturally  hstless  and  dreaming,  this  unpromising  disposition  is  none  of  the 


I.OCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  293 

easiest  to  be  dealt  with;  because,  generally  carrying  with  it  anunconcerneduess 
for  the  future,  it  wants  the  two  great  springs  of  action,  foresight  and  desire ; 
whicli,  how  to  plant  and  increase,  where  nature  has  given  a  cold  and  contrary 
temper,  will  be  the  question.  As  soon  as  you  are  satisfied  that  this  is  the  ca.se,. 
you  must  carefully  inquire  whether  tliere  be  nothing  he  delights  in ;  inform  your- 
self what  it  is  he  is  most  pleased  with ;  and  if  you  can  find  any  particular  ten- 
dency his  mind  hath,  increase  it  all  you  can,  and  make  use  of  that  to  set  him 
on  work,  and  to  excite  his  industry.  If  he  loves  praise,  or  play,  or  fine  clothes, 
etc.,  or.  on  the  other  side,  dreads  pain,  disgrace,  or  your  displeasure,  &c.,  what- 
fvev  it  be  that  he  loves  most,  except  it  be  sloth,  (for  that  will  never  set  him  on 
work,)  let  that  be  made  use  of  to  quicken  him,  and  make  him  bestir  himself;  for 
m  this  listless  temper  you  are  not  to  fear  an  excess  of  appetite,  (as  in  all  other 
cases, )  by  cherishing  it.  It  is  that  which  you  want,  and,  therefore,  must  labor 
to  raise  and  increase ;  for,  where  there  is  no  desire,  there  will  be  no  industry. 

121.  If  you  have  not  hold  enough  upon  him  this  way,  to  stir  up  vigor  and 
activity  in  him,  you  must  employ  him  in  some  constant  bodil}'  labor,  whereby 
he  may  get  an  habit  of  doing  something ;  the  keeping  him  hard  to  some  study 
were  the  better  way  to  get  him  an  habit  of  exercising  and  apptying  his  mind. 
But  because  this  is  an  invisible  attention,  and  nobody  can  tell  when  he  i?,  or  ia 
not  idle  at  it,  you  must  find  bodily  employments  for  him,  which  he  must  be 
constantly  busied  in,  and  kept  to;  and,  if  they  have  some  little  hardship  and 
shame  in  them,  it  may  not  be  the  worse,  that  they  may  the  sooner  weary  him, 
and  make  him  desire  to  return  to  his  book :  but  be  sure  when  you  exchange 
his  book  for  his  other  labor,  set  him  such  a  task,  to  be  done  in  such  a  time,  as 
may  allow  him  no  opportunitj^  to  be  idle.  Only,  after  you  have  by  this  way 
brought  him  to  be  attentive  and  industrious  at  his  book,  you  may,  upon  his 
dispatching  his  study  within  the  time  set  him,  give  him  as  a  reward,  some  res- 
pite from  his  other  labor;  which  you  may  diminish,  as  you  find  him  grow  more 
and  more  steady  in  his  application  ;  and,  at  last,  wholly  take  off,  when  his  saun- 
tering at  his  books  is  cured, 

COMPULSION. 

122.  "We  formerly  observe,  that  variety  and  freedom  was  that  which  delighted 
children,  and  recommended  their  plays  to  them ;  and  that,  therefore,  tlieir  bo^k. 
or  any  thing  we  would  have  them  learn,  should  not  be  enjoined  them  as  busi- 
ness. This  their  parents,  tutors,  and  teachers,  are  apt  to  forget ;  and  their 
impatience  to  have  them  buaied  in  what  is  fit  for  them  to  do,  suffers  them  not 
to  deceive  them  into  it ;  but  by  the  repeated  injunctions  they  meet  with,  chil- 
dren quickly  distinguish  between  what  is  required  of  them,  and  what  not. 
When  this  mistake  has  once  made  his  book  uneasy  to  him,  the  cure  is  to  be 
applied  at  the  other  end.  And  since  it  will  be  then  too  late  to  endeavor  to 
make  it  a  play  to  him,  you  must  take  the  contrary  course ;  observe  what  play 
he  is  most  delighted  with ;  enjoin  that,  and  make  him  play  so  many  hours  every 
day,  not  as  a  punishment  for  playing,  but  as  if  it  were  the  business  required  of 
him.  This,  if  I  mistake  not,  will  in  a  few  days,  make  him  so  weary  of  his 
most  beloved  sport,  that  he  will  prefer  his  book,  or  any  thing  to  it,  especially  if 
it  may  redeem  him  from  any  part  of  the  task  of  play  is  set  him ;  and  he  may  be 
suffered  to  employ  some  part  of  the  time  destined  to  his  task  of  play  in  his  book, 
or  such  other  exercise  as  is  really  useful  to  him.  This  I  at  least  think  a  better 
cure  than  that  forbidd'iig.  (wliich' u.sually  increa.ses  the  desire,)  or  any  other 


ii94  LOCKE  ON  EUUCATION. 

punishment  should  be  made  use  of  to  remedy  it ;  for,  when  you  liave  ont-e  glut- 
ted his  appetite,  (which  may  safely  be  done  in  all  things  but  eating  and  drinking.) 
and  made  him  surfeit  of  what  you  would  have  him  avoid,  you  have  put  into  him  a 
principle  of  aversion,  and  you  need  not  so  much  fear  afterwards  his  longing  for 
the  same  thing  again. 

123.  This,  I  think,  is  sufiScientl_y  evident,  that  chUdren  generally  hate  to  be 
idle:  all  the  care  then  is,  that  their  busy  humor  should  be  con^^t.intly  employed 
in  something  of  use  to  them;  which  if  you  will  attain,  you  must  make  what 
you  would  have  them  do,  a  recreation  to  them,  and  not  a  business.  The  way  to 
do  this,  so  that  they  may  not  perceive  you  have  any  hand  in  it,  is  this  proposed 
k.  ere,  viz.,  to  make  them  weary  of  that  which  you  would,  not  have  them  do,  by 
en'oiuing  and  making  them,  under  some  pretense  or  other,  do  it  till  they  are 
surfeited.  For  example ;  does  your  son  play  at  top  and  scourge  too  much  ? 
Enjoin  him  to  play  so  many  hours  every  da}',  and  look  that  he  do  it ;  and  you 
shall  see  he  will  quickly  be  sick  of  it,  and  willing  to  leave  it.  By  this  means 
making  the  recreations  you  di.slike  a  business  to  him,  he  will  of  himself,  with 
delight,  betake  himself  to  those  things  you  would  have  him  do,  especially  if  they 
be  proposed  as  rewards  for  having  performed  his  task  in  that  play  which  is  com- 
manded him.  For.  if  he  be  ordered  every  day  to  whip  his  top,  so  long  as  to 
make  him  sufficiently  weary,  do  you  not  think  he  will  apply  himself  with  eager- 
ness to  his  book,  and  wi.>h  for  it,  if  you  promise  it  him  as  a  reward  of  having 
whipped  his  top  lustily,  quite  out  all  the  time  that  is  set  him  ?  Children,  in  the 
things  they  do,  if  they  comport  with  their  age,  find  little  difference,  so  they 
may  be  doing :  the  esteem  they  have  for  one  thing  above  another,  they  borrow 
from  others ;  so  that  what  those  about  them  make  to  be  a  reward  to  them,  will 
really  be  so.  By  this  art,  it  is  in  their  governor's  choice,  whether  scotch-hoppers 
shall  reward  their  dancing,  or  dancing  their  scotch-hoppers ;  whether  peg-top, 
or  reading,  plaj'ing  at  trap,  or  studying  the  globes,  shall  be  more  acceptable 
and  pleasing  to  them ;  all  that  they  desire  being  to  be  busy,  as  they  imagine, 
in  things  of  their  own  choice,  and  which  they  receive  as  favors  from  their 
parents,  or  others  for  whom  they  have  a  respect  and  with  whom  they  would  be 
in  credit.  A  set  of  children  thus  ordered,  and  kept  from  the  ill  example  of 
others,  would,  all  of  them,  I  suppose,  with  as  much  earnestness  and  delight, 
learn  to  read,  write,  and  what  else  one  would  have  them,  as  others  do  their 
ordinarj'  plays:  and  tlie  eldest  being  thus  entered,  and  this  made  the  fashion  of 
the  place,  it  would  be  as  impossible  to  hinder  them  from  learning  the  one,  as  it 
is  ordinarily  to  keep  them  from  the  other. 

PL.'i.Y-GAMES. 

124.  Playthings,  I  think,  children  should  have,  and  of  divers  sorts:  but 
still  to  be  in  the  custody  of  their  tutors,  or  somebody  else,  whereof  a  child  should 
have  in  his  power  but  one  at  once,  and  should  not  be  suffered  to  have  another, 
but  when  he  restored  that;  this  teaches  them,  betimes,  to  be  careful  of  not  losing 
or  spoiling  the  things  they  have ;  whereas  plenty  and  variety,  in  their  own  keep- 
ing, makes  them  wanton  and  careless,  and  teaches  them  from  the  beginning  to 
be  squanderers  and  wasters.  These,  I  confess,  are  little  things,  and  such  as 
will  seem  beneath  the  care  of  a  governor;  but  nothing  that  may  form  children's 
minds  is  to  be  overlooked  and  neglected ;  and  whatsoever  introduces  habits,  and 
settles  cu'^toms  in  them.  deser\'es  the  care  and  attention  of  their  governors,  and 
ip  not  a  small  thing  in  its  consequences. 


I.OCKE  ON  EDUCATION  295 

One  thiiif,^  more  about  children's  playthings  may  be  worth  their  parents"  cart-: 
though  it  be  agreed  they  should  have  of  several  sorts,  yet,  I  think,  the}'^  should 
have  none  bought  for  them.  This  will  hinder  that  great  variety  they  are  often 
•overcharged  with,  which  serves  only  to  teach  the  mind  to  wander  after  change 
and  superfluity,  to  be  unquiet,  and  perpetually  stretching  itself  after  something 
more  still,  tliough  it  knows  not  what,  and  never  to  be  satisfied  with  what  it 
hath.  The  court  that  is  ma'le  to  people  of  condition  in  such  kind  of  presents  to 
their  cliildren,  does  the  little  ones  great  harm ;  by  it  they  are  taught  pride, 
vanity,  and  covetousness,  almost  before  they  can  speak ;  and  I  have  known  a 
young  child  so  distracted  with  the  number  and  variety  of  his  play-games,  that 
he  tired  his  maid  every  day  to  look  them  over;  and  was  so  accustomed  to  abund- 
ance, that  he  never  thought  he  bad  enough,  but  was  always  asking.  What 
more?  What  more?  What  new  thing  shall  I  have?  A  good  introduction  to 
moderate  desires,  and  the  readj'  waj'  to  make  a  contented  happj''  man. 

How  then  shall  they  have  the  play-games  you  allow  them,  if  none  must  be 
bought  for  them  ?  I  answer,  they  should  make  them  themselves,  or  at  least 
endeavor  it,  and  set  themselves  about  it;  till  then  they  should  have  none,  and 
till  then,  they  will  want  none  of  any  great  artifice.  A  smooth  pebble,  a  piece 
of  paper,  the  mother's  bunch  of  keys,  or  any  thing  they  can  not  hurt  themsflves 
with,  serves  as  much  to  divert  little  children,  as  those  more  chargeable  and 
curious  toys  from  the  shops,  which  are  presently  put  out  of  order  and  broken 
Children  are  never  dull  or  out  of  humor  for  want  of  such  playthings,  unless  they 
have  been  used  to  them  ;  when  they  are  little,  whatever  occurs,  serves  the  turn ; 
and  as  they  grow  bigger,  if  they  are  not  stored  by  the  expensive  folly  of  others, 
they  will  make  them  themselves.  Indeed,  when  they  once  begin  to  set  them- 
selves to  work  about  any  of  their  inventions,  they  should  be  taught  and  assist- 
ed ;  but  should  have  nothing  whilst  they  lazily  sit  still,  expecting  to  be  furnished 
from  other  hands  without  employing  their  own :  and  if  you  help  them  where 
they  are  at  a  stand,  it  will  more  endear  you  to  them,  than  any  chargeable  toys  you 
shall  buy  for  them.  Playthings  which  are  above  their  skill  to  malce,  as  tops, 
gigs,  battledores,  and  the  like,  which  are  to  be  used  with  labor,  should,  indeed, 
be  procured  them  :  these,  it  is  convenient,  they  should  have,  not  for  variety,  but 
for  exercise:  but  these,  too,  should  be  given  them  as  bare  as  might  be.  If  they 
had  a  top,  the  scourge-stick  and  leather-strap  should  be  left  to  their  own  mak- 
ing and  fitting.  If  they  sit  gaping  to  have  such  things  drop  into  their  mouth.s. 
they  .should  go  without  them.  This  will  accustom  them  to  seek  for  what  they 
want  in  themselves,  and  in  their  own  endeavors:  whereby  they  will  be  taught 
moderation  in  their  desires,  application,  industry.  thought,-contrivance,  and  good 
husbandry ;  qualities  that  will  be  usefiil  to  them  when  they  are  men.  and 
therefore,  can  not  be  learned  too  soon,  nor  fixed  too  deep.  All  the  plays  and 
diversions  of  children  should  be  directed  towards  good  and  useful  habits,  or 
else  they  will  introduce  ill  ones.  Wliatever  they  do,  leaves  some  impression  on 
that  tender  age,  and  from  thence  they  receive  a  tendency  to  good  or  evil :  and 
whatever  hath  such  an  influence,  ought  not  to  be  neglected. 

LYING. 

125.  Lying  is  so  ready  and  cheap  a  cover  for  any  miscarriage,  and  so  much 
in  fashion  amongst  all  sorts  of  people,  that  a  child  can  hardly  avoid  observing 
the  use  is  made  of  it  on  all  occasions,  and  so  can  scarce  be  kept,  without  great 
care,  from  getting  into  it.     But  it  is  so  ill  a  quality,  and  the  mother  of  so  many 


296  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

ill  ones,  that  spawn  from  it,  and  take  shelter  under  it,  that  a  child  should  be- 
brought  up  in  the  greatest  abhorrence  of  it  imaginable:  it  should  be  ahvaya, 
(when  occasionally  it  comes  to  be  mentioned,)  spoken  of  before  him  with  the- 
utmost  detestation,  as  a  quality  so  wholly  inconsistent  with  the  name  and  char- 
acter of  a  gentleman,  that  nobody  of  any  credit  can  bear  the  imputation  of  a  lie; 
a  mark  that  is  judged  the  utmost  disgrace,  which  debases  a  man  to  the  lowest 
degree  of  a  shameful  meanness,  and  ranks  him  with  the  most  contemptible 
part  of  mankind,  and  the  abhorred  rascality ;  and  is  not  to  be  endured  in  any 
one,  who  would  converse  with  people  of  condition,  or  have  any  esteem  or  repu- 
tation in  the  world.  The  first  time  he  is  found  in  a  lie,  it  should  rather  be  won- 
dered at,  as  a  monstrous  thing  in  him,  than  reproved  as  an  ordinary  fault.  If 
that  keeps  him  not  from  relapsing,  the  next  time  he  must  be  sharply  rebuked, 
and  fall  into  the  state  of  great  displeasure  of  his  lather  and  mother,  and  all 
about  him  who  take  notice  of  it.  And  if  this  way  work  not  the  cure,  you  must 
come  to  blows ;  for,  after  he  has  been  thus  warned,  a  premeditated  lie  must 
always  be  looked  upon  as  obstinacy,  and  never  be  permitted  to  escape  un- 
punislied. 

EXCUSES, 

126.  Children  afraid  to  have  their  faults  seen  in  their  naked  colors,  will,  like 
the  rest  of  the  sons  of  Adam,  be  apt  to  make  excuses.  This  is  a  fault  usually 
bordering  upon,  and  leading  to  untruth,  and  is  not  to  be  indulged  in  them :  but 
yet  it  ought  to  be  cured  rather  with  shame  than  roughness.  If,  therefore,  when 
a  child  is  questioned  for  anything,  his  first  answer  be  an  excuse,  warn  him 
soberly  to  tell  the  truth ;  and  then,  if  he  persists  to  shufQe  it  off  with  a  false- 
hood, he  must  be  chastised ;  but,  if  he  directly  confess,  you  must  commend  his 
ingenuity,  and  pardon  the  fault,  be  it  what  it  will ;  and  pardon  it  so.  that  you 
never  so  much  as  reproach  him  with  it.  or  mention  it  to  him  again;  for,  if  you 
would  have  him  in  love  with  ingenuity,  and  by  a  constant  practice  make  it 
habitual  to  him,  you  must  take  care  that  it  never  procure  him  the  least  incon- 
venience; but,  on  the  contrary,  his  own  confession,  bringing  always  with  it 
perfect  impunity,  should  be,  besides,  encouraged  by  some  marks  of  approbation. 
If  his  excuse  be  such  at  any  time,  that  you  can  not  prove  it  to  have  any  falst 
hood  in  it,  let  it  pass  for  true,  and  be  sure  not  to  show  anj'  suspicion  of  it.  Let 
him  keep  up  his  reputation  with  you  as  high  as  is  possible ;  for  when  once  he 
finds  he  has  lost  that,  you  have  lost  a  great  and  your  best  hold  upon  him. 
Therefore,  let  him  not  think  he  has  the  character  of  a  liar  with  3'ou,  as  long  as 
you  can  avoid  it  without  flattering  him  in  it.  Thus,  some  slips  in  truth  may  bo 
overlooked.  But,  after  he  has  once  been  corrected  for  a  he,  you  must  be  suro 
never  after  to  pardon  it  in  him,  whenever  you  find,  and  take  notice  to  him,  that 
he  is  guilty  of  it :  for  it  being  a  fault  which  he  has  been  forbid,  and  may,  unless 
he  be  willful,  avoid,  the  repeating  of  it  is  perfect  perverseness,  and  must  have 
the  chastisement  due  to  that  offense. 

127.  This  is  what  I  have  thought  concerning  the  general  method  of  educating 
a  young  gentleman ;  which,  though  I  am  apt  to  suppose  may  have  some  influ- 
ence on  the  whole  course  of  his  education,  yet  I  am  far  from  imagining  it  con- 
tains all  those  particulars  which  his  growing  years,  or  peculiar  temper,  may 
require.  But  this  being  premised  in  general,  we  shall,  in  the  next  place,  descend 
to  a  more  particular  consideration  of  the  several  parts  of  his  education. 

128.  That  which  every  gentleman,  (that  takes  any  care  of  his  education,> 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  097 

desires  for  his  son,  besides  tlie  estate  he  leaves  him,  is  contained,  il  suppose,; 
in  these  four  things,  virtue,  wisdom,  breeding  and  learning.  I  will  not  trouble 
myself  whether  these  names  do  not  some  of  them  sometimes  stand  for  the  sam« 
thing,  or  really  include  one  anothor.  It  serves  my  turn  here  to  follow  The  pop- 
ular use  of  these  words,  which  I  presume  is  clear  enough  to  make  me  be 
understood,  and  I  hope  there  will  be  no  difficulty  to  comprehend  my  meaning. 

129.  I  place  virtue  as  the  first  and  most  necessary  of  those  endowments  that 
belong  to  a  man  or  a  gentleman,  as  absolutely  requisite  to  make  him  valued 
and  beloved  by  others,  acceptable  or  tolerable  to  himself.  Without  that,  I  think, 
he  will  be  happy  neither  in  this  nor  the  other  world. 


130.  As  the  foundation  of  this,  there  ought  very  early  to  be  imprinted  on  his 
mind,  a  true  notion  of  God,  as  of  the  independent  Supreme  Being,  Author  and 
Maker  of  all  thing?,  from  whom  we  receive  all  our  good,  who  loves  us,  and 
gives  us  all  things:  and,  consequent  to  this,  instill  into  him  a  love  and  reverence 
of  this  Supreme  Being.  This  is  enough  to  begin  with,  without  going  to  explain 
this  matter  any  farther,  for  fear  lest  by  talking  too  early  to  him  of  spirits,  and 
being  unseasonably  forward  to  make  him  understand  the  incomprehensible 
nature  of  that  infinite  Being,  his  head  be  either  filled  with  false,  or  perplexed 
with  unintelligible  notions  of  him.  Let  him  only  be  told  upon  occasion,  that 
God  made  and  governs  all  things,  hears  and  sees  every  thing,  and  does  all  man- 
ner of  good  to  those  that  love  and  obey  him.  You  will  find,  that  being  told  ol 
such  a  God,  other  thoughts  will  be  apt  to  rise  up  fast  enough  in  his  mind  about 
him ;  which,  as  you  observe  them  to  have  any  mistake.?,  you  must  set  right. 
And  I  think  it  would  be  better,  if  men  generally  rested  in  such  an  idea  of  God, 
without  being  too  curious  in  their  notions  about  a  Being,  which  all  must  ac- 
knowledge incomprehensible ;  whereby  many  who  have  not  strength  and  clear- 
ness of  thought  to  distinguish  between  what  they  can,  and  what  they  can  not 
know,  run  themselves  into  superstition  or  atheism,  making  God  like  themselves, 
or,  (because  they  can  not  comprehend  any  thing  else,)  none  at  all.  And  I  am 
apt  to  think  the  keeping  of  children  constantly  morning  and  evening  to  acts 
of  devotion  to  God,  as  to  their  Maker,  Preserver  and  Benefactor,  in  some  plain  and 
short  form  of  prayer,  suitable  to  their  age  and  capacity,  will  be  of  much  more 
use  to  them  in  religion,  knowledge,  and  virtue,  than  to  distract  their  thoughts 
with  curious  inquiries  into  his  iu-crutable  essence  and  being. 

Sl'lHITS. 

131.  Having  by  gentle  degrees,  as  you  find  him  capable  of  it,  settled  such  an 
idea  of  God  in  his  mind,  and  taught  him  to  pray  to  him,  and  praise  him  as  the 
Author  of  his  being,  and  of  all  the  good  he  does  or  can  enjoy,  forbear  any  dis- 
course of  other  spirits,  till  the  mention  of  them  coming  in  his  way,  upon  occasion 
hereafter  to  be  set  down,  and  his  reading  the  Scripture-history,  put  him  upon 
that  inquiry. 

GOBLINS. 

132.  But  even  then,  and  always  whilst  he  is  young,  be  sure  to  preserve  his 
tender  mind  from  all  impressions  and  notions  of  spirits  and  goblins,  or  any 
fearful  apprehensions  in  the  dark.  This  he  will  be  in  danger  of  from  the  indis- 
cretion of  servants,  whose  usual  method  is  to  awe  children,  and  keep  them  in 
sul'jection,  by  tolling   them    of  raw-head   and  bloody -bones,  and  such    other 


2!I8  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

names,  as  cany  with  them  tlie  ideas  of  something  terrible  and  hurtful,  wliich 
tbej  have  reason  to  be  afraid  of,  when  alone,  especially  in  the  dark.  This  must 
be  carefully  prevented ;  for  though  by  this  foolish  way  they  may  keep  them  from 
httle  faults,  yet  the  remedy  is  much  worse  than  the  disease ;  and  there  are 
stamped  upon  their  imaginations  ideas  that  follow  them  with  terror  and  affrigbt- 
ment.  Such  bugbear  thoughts,  once  got  into  the  tender  minds  of  children,  and 
being  set  on  with  a  strong-  impression  from  the  dread  that  accompanies  such 
apprehensions,  sink  deep,  and  fasten  themselves  so,  as  not  easily,  if  ever,  to  be 
got  out  again ;  and,  whilst  they  are  there,  frequently  haunt  them  with  strange 
visions,  making  children  dastards  when  alone,  and  afraid  of  their  shadows  and 
darkness  all  their  lives  after.  I  have  had  those  complain  to  me,  when  men, 
who  had  been  thus  used  when  young;  that,  though  their  reason  corrected  the 
wrong  ideas  they  had  taken  in,  and  they  were  satisfied,  that  there  was  no  cause 
to  fear  invisible  beings  more  in  the  dark  than  in  the  light;  yet  that  these 
notions  were  apt  still,  upon  any  occasion,  to  start  up  first  in  their  prepossessed 
fancies,  and  not  to  be  removed  without  some  pains.  And,  to  let  you  see  how 
lasting  frightful  images  are,  that  take  place  in  the  mind  early,  I  shall  here  tell  you 
a  pretty  remarkable,  but  true  story :  there  was  in  a  town  in  the  west,  a  man  of  a 
disturbed  brain,  whom  the  boys  used  to  tease,  when  he  came  in  their  way :  this 
fellow  one  day,  seeing  in  the  street  one  of  those  lads  that  used  to  vex  him, 
stepped  into  a  cutler's  shop  he  was  near,  and  there  seizing  on  a  naked  sword, 
made  after  the  boy,  who  seeing  him  coming  so  armed,  betook  himself  to  his 
feet,  and  ran  for  his  life,  and  by  good  luck  had  strength  and  heels  enough  to 
reach  his  father's  house,  before  the  madman  could  get  up  to  him :  the  door  was 
only  latched;  and  when  he  had  the  latch  in  his  hand,  he  turned  about  his  head 
to  see  how  near  his  pursuer  was,  who  was  at  the  entrance  of  the  porch,  with 
his  sword  up  ready  to  strike;  and  he  had  just  time  to  get  in  and  clap  to  the 
door  to  avoid  the  blow,  which,  though  his  body  escaped,  his  mind  did  not.  This 
frightening  idea  made  so  deep  an  impression  there,  that  it  lasted  many  years, 
if  not  all  his  life  after ;  for  telling  this  story  when  he  was  a  man,  he  said,  that 
after  that  time  till  then,  he  never  went  in  at  that  door,  (that  be  could  remember,) 
at  any  time,  without  looking  back,  whatever  business  he  had  in  his  head,  or 
how  little  soever,  before  he  came  thither,  he  thought  of  this  madman. 

If  children  were  let  alone,  they  would  be  no  more  afraid  in  the  dark  than  in 
broad  sunshine ;  they  would  in  their  turns  as  much  welcome  the  one  for  sleep, 
as  the  other  to  play  in :  there  should  be  no  distinction  made  to  them,  by  any 
discourse,  of  more  danger,  or  terrible  things  in  the  one  than  the  other.  But,  if 
the  folly  of  any  one  about  them  should  do  them  this  harm,  and  make  them 
think  there  is  an}'  difference  between  being  in  the  dark  and  winking,  you  must 
get  it  out  of  their  minds  as  soon  as  j'ou  can ;  and  let  them  know,  that  God,  who 
made  all  things  good  for  them,  made  the  night,  that  they  might  sleep  the  better 
and  quieter ;  and  that  they  being  under  his  protection,  there  is  nothing  in  the 
dark  to  hurt  them.  What  is  to  be  known  more  of  God  and  good  spirits,  is  to  bo 
deferred  till  the  time  we  shall  hereafter  mention ;  and  of  evil  spirits,  it  will  be 
well  if  you  can  keep  him  from  wrong  fancies  about  them,  till  he  is  ripe  for  that 
Bort  of  knowledge. 

TRUTH.       GOOD-NATURE. 

133.  Having  laid  the  foundations  of  virtue  in  a  true  notion  of  a  God,  such  as 
the  creed  wisely  teaches,  as  far  as  his  age  is  capable,  and  by  accustoming  him  to 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  293 

pray  to  him ;  the  next  thing  to  be  taken  care  of,  is  to  keep  him  exactly  to 
speaking  of  truth,  and  by  all  the  ways  imaginable  inclining  him  to  be  good- 
natured.  Let  him  know,  that  twenty  faults  are  sooner  to  be  forgiven  than  the 
straining  of  truth,  to  cover  any  one  by  an  excuse :  and  to  teach  him  betimes  to 
love  and  be  good-natured  to  others,  is  to  lay  early  the  true  foundation  of  an 
honest  man ;  all  injustice  generally  springing  from  too  great  love  of  ourselves, 
and  too  little  of  other.*. 

This  is  all  I  shall  say  of  this  matter  in  general,  und  is  enough  for  laying  the 
lirst  foundations  of  virtue  in  a  child.  As  he  grows  up,  the  tendency  of  his  nat- 
ural inclination  must  be  observed;  which,  as  it  inclines  him,  more  than  is  con- 
venient, on  one  or  the  other  side,  from  the  right  path  of  virtue,  ought  to  have 
proper  remedies  applied ;  for  few  of  Adam's  children  are  so  happy  as  not  to  he 
born  with  some  bias  in  their  natural  temper,  which  it  is  the  business  of  educa- 
tion either  to  take  off,  or  counterbalance :  but  to  enter  into  particulars  of  this, 
would  be  beyond  the  design  of  this  short  treatise  of  education.  I  intend  not  a 
discourse  of  all  the  virtues  and  vices,  and  how  each  virtue  is  to  be  attained, 
and  every  particular  vice  bj'  its  peculiar  remedies  cured ;  though  I  have  men- 
tioned some  of  the  most  ordinary  faults,  and  the  ways  to  be  used  in  correcting 
them. 

WISDOM. 

134.  "Wisdom  I  take,  in  the  popular  acceptation,  for  a  man's  managing  his 
business  ably,  and  with  foresight,  in  this  world.  This  is  the  product  of  a  good 
natural  temper,  application  of  mind  and  experience  together,  and  so  above  the 
reach  of  children.  The  greatest  thing  that  in  them  can  be  done  towards  it,  is 
to  hinder  tliem,  as  much  as  may  be,  from  being  cunning ;  which  being  the  ape 
•of  wisdom,  is  the  most  distant  from  it  that  can  be :  and,  as  an  ape,  for  the  like- 
ness it  has  to  a  man,  wanting  what  really  should  make  him  so,  is  by  sc  much 
the  uglier ;  cunning  is  only  the  want  of  understanding ;  which,  because  it  can 
not  compass  its  ends  by  direct  ways,  would  do  it  by  a  trick  and  circumvention ; 
and  the  mischief  of  it  is,  a  cunning  trick  helps  but  once,  but  hinders  ever  after. 
No  cover  was  ever  made  either  so  big,  or  so  fine,  as  to  hide  itself  Nobody 
was  ever  so  cunning,  as  to  conceal  their  being  so :  and  when  they  are  once 
discovered,  every  body  is  sh}',  every  body  distrustful  of  crafty  men;  and  all  the 
world  forwardly  join  to  oppose  and  defeat  them :  whilst  the  open,  fair,  wise  man 
has  every  body  to  make  way  for  him,  and  goes  directly  to  his  business.  To  accus- 
tom a  child  to  have  true  notions  of  things,  and  not  to  be  satisfied  till  he  has  them; 
to  raise  his  mind  to  great  and  worthy  thoughts;  and  to  keep  him  at  a  distance 
from  falsehood,  and  cunning,  which  has  always  a  broad  mixture  of  falsehood  in 
it ;  is  the  fittest  preparation  of  a  child  for  wisdom.  The  rest,  which  is  to  be 
learned  from  time,  experience,  and  observation,  and  an  acquaintance  with  men, 
their  tempers  and  designs,  is  not  to  be  expected  in  the  ignorance  and  inadvert- 
ency of  childhood,  or  the  inconsiderate  heat  and  unweariness  of  youth:  all  that 
can  be  done  towards  it,  during  this  unripe  age,  is,  as  I  have  said,  to  accustom 
them  to  truth  and  sincerity ;  to  a  submission  to  reason ;  and,  as  much  as  may 
be,  to  reflection  on  their  own  actions. 


135.  The  next  good  quality  belonging  to   a  gentleman,  is  good-breeding. 
Tliere  are  two  sorts  of  ill-breeding ;  the  one  a  sheepish  bashfulness ;  and  the 


300  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

other,  a  misbecoming  negligence  and  disrespect  in  our  carriage ;  both  which 
are  avoided,  by  duly  observing  this  one  rule,  Not  to  think  meanly  of  ourselves, 
and  not  to  think  meanly  of  others. 

136.  The  first  part  of  this  rule  must  not  be  understood  in  opposition  to 
humility,  but  to  assurance.  We  ought  not  to  think  so  well  of  ourselves,  as  to 
stand  upon  our  own  value ;  and  assume  to  ourselves  a  preference  before  others, 
because  of  any  advantage  we  may  imagine  we  have  over  them ;  but  modestly 
to  take  what  is  offered,  when  it  is  our  due.  But  yet  we  ought  to  think  so  well 
of  ourselves,  as  to  peform  those  actions  which  are  incumbent  on,  and  expected 
of  us,  without  discomposure  or  disorder,  in  whose  presence  soever  we  are,  keeping 
that  respect  and  distance  which  is  due  to  every  one's  rank  and  quality.  There 
is  often  in  people,  especially  children,  a  clownish  shamefacedness  before  stran- 
gers, or  those  above  them ;  they  are  confounded  in  their  thoughts,  words,  and 
looks,  and  so  lose  themselves  in  that  confusion,  as  not  to  be  able  to  do  any 
thing,  or  at  least  not  to  do  it  with  that  freedom  and  gracefulness  which  pleases, 
and  makes  them  acceptable.  The  only  cure  for  this,  as  for  any  other  miscar- 
riage, is  by  use  to  introduce  the  contrary  habit.  But  since  we  can  not  accustom 
ourselves  to  converse  with  strangers,  and  pennons  of  quality,  without  being  in 
their  company,  nothing  can  cure  this  part  of  ill-breeding  but  change  and  variety 
of  company,  and  that  of  persons  above  us. 

137.  As  the  before-mentioned  consists  in  too  great  a  concern  how  to  behave 
ourselves  towards  others,  so  the  other  part  of  ill-breeding  lies  in  the  appearance 
of  too  little  care  of  pleasing  or  showing  respect  to  those  we  have  to  do  with. 
To  avoid  this  these  two  things  are  requisite :  first,  a  disposition  of  the  mind  not 
to  offend  others;  and  secondly,  the  most  acceptable  and  ngrceable  way  of  ex- 
pressing tliat  dispo.sition.  From  the  one,  men  are  called  civil ;  from  the  other, 
A'ell-fashioned.  The  latter  of  these  is  that  decency  and  gracefulness  of  looks, 
voice,  words,  motions,  gestures,  and  of  all  the  whole  outward  demeanor,  which 
takes  in  company,  and  makes  those  with  whom  we  may  converse  easy  and  well 
pleased.  This  is,  as  it  were,  the  language  whereby  that  internal  cjvility  of  the 
mind  is  expressed ;  which,  as  other  languages  are,  being  very  much  governed 
by  the  fashion  and  custom  of  every  country,  must  in  the  rules  and  practice  of 
it,  be  learned  chiefly  from  observation,  and  the  carriage  of  those  who  are  allowed 
to  be  exactly  well-bred.  The  other  part,  which  lies  deeper  than  the  outside,  is 
that  general  good-will  and  regard  for  all  people,  which  makes  any  one  have  a 
oare  not  to  show,  in  his  carriage,  any  contempt,  disrespect,  or  neglect  of  them ; 
but  to  express,  according  to  the  fashion  and  way  of  that  country,  a  respect  and 
value  for  them,  according  to  their  rank  and  condition.  It  is  a  disposition  of  the 
mind  that  shows  itself  in  the  carriage,  whereby  a  man  avoids  making  any  one 
uneasy  in  conversation. 

I  shall  take  notice  of  four  qualities,  that  are  most  directly  opposite  to  this  first 
and  most  taking  of  all  the  social  virtues.  And  from  some  one  of  these  four,  it 
is,  that  incivility  commonly  has  its  rise.  I  shall  set  them  down,  that  children 
may  be  preserved  or  recovered  from  their  ill  influence. 

ROUGHNESS. 

1.  The  first  is  a  natural  roughness,  which  makes  a  man  uncomplaisant  to 
others,  so  that  he  has  no  deference  for  their  inclinations,  tempers,  or  conditions. 
It  is  the  sure  badge  of  a  clown,  not  to  mind  what  pleases  or  displeases  those  he  is 
with;  and  yet  one  may  often  find  a  man,  in  fashionable  clothes,  give  an  un- 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  301 

bounded  swing  to  his  own  humor,  and  suffer  it  to  justle  or  overrun  any  one  that 
stands  in  its  way,  with  a  perfect  indifferency  how  they  take  it.  This  is  a  bru- 
tality that  every  one  sees  and  abhors,  and  nobody  can  be  easy  with :  and  there- 
fore this  finds  no  place  in  any  one,  who  would  be  thought  to  have  the  least 
tincture  of  good-breeding.  For  the  very  end  and  business  of  good-breeding  is 
to  supple  the  natural  stiffness,  and  so  soften  men's  tempers,  that  they  may  bend 
to  a  compliance,  and  accommodate  themselves  to  those  they  have  to  do  with. 


2.  Contempt,  or  want  of  due  respect,  discovered  either  in  looks,  words,  or 
gestures :  this,  from  whomsoever  it  comes,  brings  always  uneasiness  with  it ; 
for  nobody  can  contentedly  bear  being  slighted. 

CENSORIOUSNESS.       RAILLERY. 

3.  Censoriousness,  and  finding  fault  with  others,  has  a  direct  opposition  to 
civility.  Men,  whatever  they  are,  or  are  not  guilty  of,  would  not  have  their 
faults  displayed,  and  set  in  open  view  and  broad  daylight,  before  their  own,  or 
other  people's  eyes.  Blemishes  afSxed  to  any  one,  always  carry  shame  with 
them :  and  the  discovery,  or  even  bare  imputation  of  any  defect,  is  not  borno 
without  some  uneasiness.  Raillery  is  the  most  refined  way  of  exposing  the 
faults  of  others ;  but.  because  it  is  usually  done  with  wit  and  good  language, 
and  gives  entertainment  to  the  company,  people  are  led  into  a  mistake,  and, 
where  it  keeps  within  fair  bounds,  there  is  no  incivility  in  it:  and  so  the  pleas- 
antry of  this  sort  of  conversation  often  introduces  it  amongst  people  of  the  bet- 
ter rank ;  and  such  talkers  are  favorably  heard,  and  generally  applauded  by  the 
laughter  of  the  by-standers  on  their  side :  but  they  ought  to  consider,  that  the 
entertainment  of  the  rest  of  the  company  is  at  the  cost  of  that  one,  who  is  set 
out  in  their  burlesque  colors,  who,  therefore,  is  not  without  uneasiness,  unless 
the  subject,  for  which  he  is  rallied,  be  really  in  itself  matter  of  commendation ; 
for  then  the  pleasant  images  and  representations  which  make  the  raillery,  carry- 
ing praise  as  well  as  sport  with  them,  tlie  rallied  person  also  finds  his  account, 
and  takes  part  in  the  diversion.  But,  because  the  nice  management  of  so 
nice  and  ticklish  a  business,  wherein  a  little  slip  may  spoil  all,  is  not  every 
bod3''s  talen!,  I  think  those,  who  would  secure  themselves  from  provoking  others, 
especially  all  young  people,  should  carefully  abstain  from  raillery;  which,  by 
a  small  mistake,  or  any  wrong  turn,  may  leave  upon  the  mind  of  those,  who 
are  made  uneasy  by  it,  the  lasting  memory  of  having  been  piquantly,  though 
wittily,  tauntefl  for  something  censurable  in  tliem. 

COXTRADICTION. 

Besides  raillery,  contradiction  is  a  kind  of  censoriousness,  where-in  ill-breed- 
ing often  shows  itself.  Complaisance  does  not  require  that  we  should  always 
admit  all  the  reasonings  or  relations  that  the  company  is  entertained  with ;  no, 
nor  silently  let  pass  all  that  is  vented  in  our  hearing.  The  opposing  the  opin- 
ions, and  rectif|ying  the  mistakes  of  others,  is  what  truth  and  charity  sometimes 
require  of  us,  and  civility  does  not  oppose,  if  it  be  done  with  due  caution  and 
care  of  circumstances.  But  there  are  some  people,  that  one  may  observe  pos- 
sessed, as  it  were,  with  the  spirit  of  contradiction,  that  steadily,  and  without 
regard  to  rislit  or  wrong,  oppose  some  one,  or  perhaps  every  one  of  the  com- 
pany, whatever  tliey  say.     This  is  so  visible  aiiM  outrageous  a  way  of  censuring 


302  I.OCKE  ON  i:i)l  CATION. 

that  nobody  can  avoid  tliinking  liiraself  injured  by  it.  All  opposition  to  what 
another  man  has  said,  is  so  apt  to  be  suspected  of  censoriousrtess,  and  is  so  sel- 
dom received  without  some  sort  of  humiliation,  that  it  ought  to  be  made  in  the 
gentlest  manner,  and  softest  words  can  be  found ;  and  such  as,  with  the  whole 
deportment,  may  express  no  forwardness  to  contradict.  All  marks  of  respect 
and  good-will  ought  to  accompany  it,  tiiat  wliilst  we  gain  the  argument,  we 
may  not  lose  the  esteem  of  those  that  hear  us. 

CAPTIOUSNESS. 

4.  Captiousness  is  another  fault  opposite  to  civilit)',  not  only  because  it  ot^en 
produces  misbecoming  and  provoking  expressions  and  carriage,  but  because  it 
is  a  tacit  accusation  and  reproach  of  some  incivility,  taken  notice  of  in  those 
whom  we  are  angry  with.  Such  a  suspicion,  or  intimation,  can  not  be  borne 
by  any  one  without  uneasiness.  Besides,  one  angry  body  discomposes  the 
whole  company,  and  the  harmony  ceases  upon  any  such  jarring. 

The  happiness,  that  all  men  so  steadily  pursue,  consisting  in  pleasure,  it  is  easy 
to  see  why  the  civil  are  more  acceptable  than  the  useful.  The  ability,  sincerity, 
and  good  intention,  of  a  man  of  weight  and  worth,  or  a  real  friend,  seldom 
atone  for  the  uneasiness,  that  is  produced  by  his  grave  and  solid  representations. 
Power  and  riches,  naj''  virtue  itself,  are  valued  only  as  conducing  to  our  happi- 
ness; and,  therefore,  he  recommends  himself  ill  to  another  as  aiming  at  his 
happiness,  who,  in  the  services  he  does  him,  makes  him  uneasj'  in  the  manner 
of  doing  them.  He  that  knows  how  to  make  those  he  converses  with  easy, 
without  debasing  himself  to  low  and  servile  flattery,  has  found  the  true  art  of 
living  in  the  world,  and  being  both  welcome  and  valued  every  where.  Civility 
therefore,  is  what,  in  the  first  place,  should  with  great  care  be  made  habitual 
to  children  and  young  people. 

BREEDING. 

138.  There  is  another  fault  in  good  manners,  and  that  is,  excess  of  ceremony 
and  an  obstinate  persisting  to  force  upon  another  what  is  not  his  due,  and  what 
he  can  not  take  without  folly  or  shame.  This  seems  rather  a  design  to  expose, 
than  oblige;  or,  at  least,  looks  like  a  contest  for  mastery;  and,  at  best,  is  but 
troublesome,  and  so  can  be  no  part  of  good-breeding,  which  has  no  other  use  or 
end,  but  to  make  people  easy  and  satisfied  in  their  conversation  with  us.  This 
is  a  fault  few  young  people  are  apt  to  fall  into ;  but  yet.  if  they  are  ever  guilty 
of  it,  or  are  suspected  to  incline  that  way,  they  should  be  told  of  it,  and  warned 
of  this  mistaken  civility.  The  thing  they  should  endeavor  and  aim  at  in  con- 
versation, should  be  to  show  respect,  esteem,  and  good-will,  by  paying  to  every 
one  that  common  ceremony  and  regard,  which  is  in  civility  due  to  them.  To 
do  this,  without  a  suspicion  of  flattery,  dissimulation,  or  meanness,  is  a  great 
skill,  which  good  sense,  reason,  and  good  company,  can  only  teach ;  but  is  of  so 
much  use  in  civil  life,  that  it  is  well  worth  the  studying. 

139.  Though  the  managing  ourselves  well  in  this  part  of  our  behavior  has 
the  name  of  good-breeding,  as  if  peculiarly  the  effect  of  education ;  yet,  as  I 
have  said,  young  children  should  not  be  much  perplexed  about  it ;  I  mean, 
about  putting  off  their  hats,  and  making  legs  modishly.  Teach  them  humQity, 
and  to  be  good-natured,  if  you  can,  and  this  sort  of  manners  will  not  be  want- 
ing: being  in  truth,  nothing  but  a  care  not  to  show  any  slighting,  or  contempt, 
of  any  one  in  conversation.     What  are  the  most  allowed  and  esteemed  ways  of 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  303 

expressing  this,  we  have  above  observed.  It  is  as  peculiar  and  different,  in 
several  countries  of  the  world,  as  their  languages ;  and,  therefore,  if  it  be  rightly 
considered,  rules  and  discourses,  made  to  children  about  it,  are  as  useless  and 
impertinent,  as  it  would  be,  now  and  then,  to  give  a  rule  or  two  of  the  Spanish 
tongue,  to  one  that  converses  only  with  Englishmen.  Be  as  busy  as  you  please 
with  discourses  of  civility  to  your  son  ;  such  as  is  his  company,  such  will  be  his 
manners.  A  plowman  of  your  neighborhood,  that  has  never  been  out  of  hia 
parish,  read  what  lectures  j'ou  please  to  him.  will  be  as  soon  in  his  language,  as 
his  carriage,  a  courtier;  that  is,  in  neither  will  be  more  polite,  than  those  he 
uses  to  converse  with :  and,  therefore,  of  Dhis  no  other  care  can  be  taken,  till  he 
be  of  an  age  to  have  a  tutor  put  to  him,*  who  must  not  fail  to  be  a  well-bred 
man.  And,  in  good  earnest,  if  I  were  to  speak  my  mind  freely,  so  children  do 
nothing  out  of  obstinacy,  pride,  and  ill-nature,  it  is  no  great  matter  how  they 
put  off  their  hats,  or  make  legs.  If  you  can  teach  them  to  love  and  respect 
other  people,  thej^  will,  as  their  age  requires  it,  find  ways  to  express  it  accepta- 
bly to  every  one,  according  to  the  fashions  they  have  been  used  to :  and  as  to 
their  notions,  and  carriage  of  their  bodies,  a  dancing-master,  as  has  been  said, 
when  it  is  fit,  will  teach  them  what  is  most  becoming.  In  the  mean  time,  when 
they  are  young,  people  expect  not  that  children  should  be  over-mindful  of  these 
ceremonies ;  carelessness  is  allowed  to  that  age,  and  becomes  them  as  well  as 
compUments  do  grown  people :  or,  at  least,  if  some  very  nice  people  will  think 
it  a  fault,  I  am  sure  it  is  a  fault  that  should  be  overlooked,  and  left  to  time,  a  tutor, 
and  conversation,  to  cure :  and,  therefore,  I  think  it  not  worth  your  while  to 
have  your  son,  (as  I  often  see  children  are.)  molested  or  chid  about  it;  but 
where  there  is  pride,  or  ill-nature,  appearing  in  his  carriage,  there  he  must  be 
persuaded,  or  shamed  out  of  it. 

INTERRUPTION. 

Though  children  when  little,  sliould  not  be  much  perplexed  with  rules  and 
ceremonious  parts  of  breeding ;  yet  there  is  a  sort  of  unmannerliness  very  apt 
to  grow  up  with  young  people,  if  not  early  restrained ;  and  that  is  a  forward- 
ness to  interrupt  others  that  are  speaking,  and  to  stop  them  with  some  contra- 
diction. Whether  the  custom  of  disputing,  and  the  reputation  of  parts,  and 
learning  usually  given  to  it,  as  if  it  were  the  only  standard  and  evidence  of 
knowledge,  make  yoimg  men  so  forward  to  watch  occasions  to  correct  others  in 
their  discourse,  and  not  to  slip  any  opportunity  of  showing  their  talents ;  so  it 
is,  that  I  have  found  scholars  most  blamed  in  this  point.  There  can  not  be  a 
greater  rudeness,  than  to  interrupt  another  in  the  current  of  his  discourse ;  for, 
if  there  be  not  impertinent  folly  in  answering  a  man  before  we  know  what  he 
will  say,  yet  it  is  a  plain  declaration,  that  we  are  weary  to  hear  him  talk  any 
longer,  and  have  a  disesteem  of  what  he  says ;  which  we,  judging  not  fit  to 
entertain  the  company,  desire  them  to  give  audience  to  us,  who  have  something 
to  produce  worth  their  attention.  Tiiis  shows  a  very  great  disrespect,  and  can 
not  but  be  offensive ;  and  yet,  this  is  wliat  almost  all  interruption  constantly 
carries  with  it.  To  which,  if  there  be  added,  as  is  usual,  a  correcting  of  any 
mistake,  or  a  contradiction  of  what  has  been  said,  it  is  a  mark  of  yet  greater 
pride  and  self-conceitedness,  when  we  thus  intrude  ourselves  for  teachers,  and 
take  upon  us,  either  to  set  another  right  in  Iiis  storj"-,  or  show  the  mistakes  of 
his  judgment. 

T  do  not  say  this,  that  I  tliink  tlierc  should  be  no  difference  of  ojiinions  in 


304  I.OCKE  ON  i:i)l!(  ATION. 

conversation,  nor  opposition  in  men's  discourses:  this  would  be  to  take  away 
the  greatest  advantage  of  society,  and  the  improvements  that  are  to  be  made 
by  ingenious  company ,  where  the  hght  is  to  be  got  from  tlie  opposite  arguings 
of  men  of  parts,  showing  tlie  different  sides  of  things,  and  their  various  aspects 
and  probabihties,  would  be  quite  lost,  if  every  one  were  obliged  to  assent  to, 
and  say  after  the  first  speaker.  It  is  not  the  owning  one's  dissent  from  another 
that  I  speak  against,  but  the  manner  of  doing  it.  Young  men  should  be 
taught  not  to  be  forward  to  interpose  their  opinions,  unless  asked,  or  when 
other.>  have  done,  and  are  silent ;  and  then  only  by  way  of  inquiry,  not  instruc- 
tion. The  positive  asserting,  and  the  magisterial  air,  should  be  avoided;  and 
when  a  general  pause  of  the  whole  company  affords  an  opportunity,  thej'  may 
modestly  put  in  their  question  as  learners. 

This  becoming  decency  will  not  cloud  their  parts,  nor  weaken  the  strength  of 
their  reason  ;  but  bespeak  the  more  favorable  attention,  and  give  what  they  say 
the  greater  advantage.  An  ill  argument,  or  ordinary  observation,  thus  introduced, 
with  some  civil  preface  of  deference  and  respect  to  the  opinions  of  others,  will 
procure  them  more  credit  and  esteem,  than  the  sharpest  wit,  or  profoundest 
science,  with  a  rough,  insolent,  and  noisy  management;  which  always  shocks 
the  hearer.s,  and  leaves  an  ill  opinion  of  the  man,  though  he  get  the  better  of  it 
in  the  argument. 

DISPUTE. 

This,  therefore,  should  be  carefully  watched  in  young  people,  stopped  in  the 
beginning,  and  the  contrary  habit  introduced  in  all  their  conversation :  and  the 
rather,  because  forwardness  to  talk,  frequent  interruptions  in  arguing,  and  loud 
wrangling,  are  too  often  observable  amongst  grown  people,  even  of  rank  amongst 
us.  The  Indians,  whom  we  call  barbarous,  observe  much  more  decency  and 
civilit_v  in  their  discourses  and  conversation,  giving  one  another  a  fair  silent 
hearing,  till  they  have  quite  done ;  and  then  answering  them  calmly,  and  with- 
out noise  or  passion.  And  if  it  be  not  so  in  this  civilized  part  of  tlie  world, 
we  must  impute  it  to  a  neglect  in  education,  which  has  not  yet  reformed  this 
ancient  piece  of  barbarity  amongst  us.  T\'as  it  not,  think  you.  an  entertaining 
spectacle,  to  see  two  ladies  of  quality  accidentally  seated  on  the  opposite  sides  of 
a  room,  set  round  with  company,  fall  into  a  dispute,  and  grow  so  eager  in  it. 
that  in  the  heat  of  their  controversy,  edging  by  degrees  their  chairs  forwards, 
they  were  in  a  little  time  got  up  close  to  one  another  in  the  middle  of  the  room ; 
where  they  for  a  good  while  managed  the  dispute  as  fiercely  as  two  game-cocks 
in  the  pit,  without  minding  or  taking  any  notice  of  the  circle,  which  could  not 
all  the  while  forbear  smiling  ?  This  I  was  told  by  a  person  of  quality,  who  was 
present  at  the  combat,  and  did  not  omit  to  reflect  upon  the  indecencies,  that 
warmth  in  dispute  often  runs  people  into ;  which,  since  custom  makes  too  fre- 
quent, education  should  take  the  more  care  of.  There  is  nobody  but  condemns 
this  in  others,  though  they  overlook  it  in  themselves :  and  many  who  are  sensi- 
ble of  it  in  themselves,  and  resolve  against  it,  can  not  get  rid  of  an  ill  custom, 
which  neglect  in  their  education  has  suffered  to  settle  into  an  habit. 

COMPANY. 

140.  "What  has  been  above  said  concerning  company,  would,  perhaps,  if  it 
were  well  reflected  on,  give  us  a  larger  prospect,  and  let  us  see  how  much  far- 
ther its  influence  reaches.      It  is  not  the  modes  of  civility  alone,  that  are 


LOCKK   ON   EDUCATION.  5505 

impriuted  by  conversation ;  the  tincture  of  company  sinks  deeper  than  the 
outside;  and  possibly,  if  a  true  estimate  were  made  of  the  morality  and 
religions  of  the  world,  we  should  find,  that  the  far  greater  part  of  man- 
kind received  even  those  opinions  and  ceremonies  they  would  die  for, 
rather  from  the  fashions  of  their  countries,  and  the  constant  practice  of 
those  about  them,  than  from  any  conviction  of  their  reasons.  I  mention 
this  only  to  let  you  see  of  what  moment  I  think  company  is  to  your  son 
in  all  the  parts  of  his  life,  and,  therefore,  how  much  that  one  part  is  to 
be  weighed  and  provided  for,  it  being  of  greater  force  to  work  upon  him 
than  all  you  can  do  besides. 

LKARXIXO. 

141.  You  will  wonaer,  perhaps,  that  1  put  learning  last,  especially  if  I  tell 
you  I  think  it  the  least  part.  This  may  seem  strange  in  the  mouth  of  a  book- 
ish man :  and  this  making  usually  the  chief,  if  not  only  bustle  and  stir  about 
children,  tliis  being  almost  that  alone  which  is  thought  on,  when  people  talk 
of  education,  makes  it  the  greater  paradox.  When  I  consider  what  ado  is 
made  about  a  little  Latin  and  Greek,  how  many  years  are  spent  in  it,  and  what 
a  noise  and  business  it  makes  to  no  purpose,  I  can  hardly  forbear  thinking,  that 
the  parents  of  children  still  live  in  fear  of  the  school-master's  rod,  which  they 
look  on  as  the  only  instrument  of  education ;  as  if  a  language  or  two  were  its 
whole  business.  How  else  is  it  possible,  that  a  child  should  be  chained  to  the 
■oar  seven,  eight,  or  ten  of  the  best  years  of  his  life,  to  get  a  language  or  two, 
which  I  think  might  be  had  at  a  great  deal  cheaper  rate  of  pains  and  time,  and 
be  learned  almost  in  playing? 

Forgive  me,  therefore,  if  I  say,  I  can  not  with  patience  think,  that  a  young 
gentleman  should  be  put  into  the  herd,  and  be  driven  with  the  whip  and  scourge, 
-as  if  he  were  to  run  the  gauntlet  through  the  several  classes,  ''ad  capiendum 
ingeuii  cultum."  "  What  then,  say  you,  would  you  not  have  him  write  and 
read  ?  Shall  he  be  more  ignorant  than  the  clerk  of  our  parish,  who  takes  Hop- 
kins and  Sternhold  for  the  best  poets  in  the  world,  whom  yet  he  makes  worse 
than  they  are,  by  his  ill  reading?  "  Not  so,  not  so  fast,  I  beseech  you.  Read- 
ing, and  writing,  and  learning,  I  allow  to  be  necessary,  but  yet  not  the  chief 
business.  I  imagine  you  would  think  him  a  very  foolish  fellow,  that  should  not 
value  a  virtuous,  or  a  wise  man,  infinitely  before  a  great  scholar.  Not  but  that  I 
think  learning  a  great  help  to  both,  in  well  disposed  minds ;  but  yet  it  must  be 
■confessed  also,  that  in  others  not  so  disposed,  it  helps  them  only  to  be  the  more 
foolish,  or  worse  men.  I  say  this,  that,  when  you  consider  of  the  breeding  of 
your  son,  and  are  looking  out  for  a  school-master,  or  a  tutor,  you  would  not 
have,  (as  is  usual,)  Latin  and  logic  only  in  your  thoughts.  Learning  must  be 
had,  but  in  the  second  place  as  subservient  only  to  greater  qualities.  Seek  out 
somebody,  that  may  know  how  discreetly  to  frame  his  manners :  place  him  in 
hands,  where  you  may,  as  much  as  possible,  secure  his  innocence,  cherish  and 
nurse  up  the  good,  and  gently  correct  and  weed  out  any  bad  inclinations,  and  set- 
tle in  him  good  habits.  This  is  the  main  point ;  and  this  being  provided  for, 
learning  may  be  had  into  the  bargain ;  and  that,  as  I  think,  at  a  very  easy  rate, 
by  methods  that  may  be  thought  on. 

READING. 

Ii2.  When  he  can  talk,  it  is  time  he  should  begin  to  learn  to  read.  But  a., 
to  this,  give  me  leave  here  to  inculcate  again  what  is  very  apt  to  be  forgotten. 


;3ou 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION*. 


viz.,  that  a  great  care  is  to  be  taken,  that  it  be  never  made  as  a  business  to  hnn, 
nor  he  look  on  it  as  a  task.  We  naturally,  as  I  said,  even  from  our  cradle-s.  love 
liberty,  and  have,  therefore,  an  aversion  to  many  things,  for  no  other  reason, 
but  because  they  are  enjoined  us.  I  have  always  had  a  tancy,  that  learning 
might  be  made  a  play  and  recreation  to  children ;  and  that  they  migiit  be 
brought  to  desire  to  be  taught,  if  it  were  proposed  to  them  as  a  thing  of  honor, 
credit,  dehght,  and  recreation,  or  as  a  reward  for  doing  something  else,  and  if 
they  were  never  chid  or  corrected  for  the  neglect  of  it.  That  which  confirms 
me  in  this  opinion  is,  that  among.-Jt  the  Portuguese,  it  is  so  much  a  fasliion  and 
emulation  amongst  their  children  to  learn  to  read  and  write,  that  they  can  not 
hinder  them  from  it :  they  will  learn  it  one  from  another,  and  are  as  intent  on 
it  as  if  it  were  forbid  them.  I  remember,  that  being  at  a  friend's  house,  who.se 
younger  son,  a  child  in  coats,  was  not  easily  brought  to  his  book,  (being  taught 
to  read  at  home  by  his  mother ;)  I  advised  to  try  another  way  than  requiring  it 
of  him  as  his  duty.  We  therefore,  in  a  discourse  on  purpo.se  amongst  ourselves, 
in  his  hearing,  but  without  taking  any  notice  of  him,  declared,  that  it  was  the 
privilege  and  advantage  of  heirs  and  elder  brothers,  to  be  scholars ;  that  this 
made  them  fine  gentlemen,  and  beloved  by  every  body :  and  that  for  younger 
brothers,  it  was  a  favor  to  admit  them  to  breeding;  to  be  taught  to  read  and 
write  was  more  than  came  to  their  share;  they  might  be  ignorant  bumpkins 
and  clowns,  if  they  pleased.  This  so  wrought  upon  the  child,  that  afterwards 
he  desired  to  be  taught ;  would  come  himself  to  his  mother  to  learn ;  and 
would  not  let  his  maid  be  quiet,  till  she  heard  him  his  lesson.  I  doubt  not  but 
some  way  like  this  might  be  taken  with  other  children ;  and,  when  their  tem- 
pers are  found,  some  thoughts  be  instilled  into  them,  that  might  set  them  upon 
desiring  of  learning  themselves,  and  make  them  seek  it,  as  another  sort  of  play 
or  recreation.  But  then,  as  I  said  before,  it  must  never  be  imposed  as  a  task, 
nor  made  a  trouble  to  them.  There  may  be  dice  and  playthings,  with  the  let- 
ters on  them,  to  teach  children  the  alphabet  by  playing;  and  twenty  other  ways 
may  be  found,  suitable  to  their  particular  tempers,  to  make  tiiis  kind  of  learn- 
ing a  sport  to  them. 

143.  Thus  children  may  be  cozened  into  a  knowledge  of  the  letters;  be 
taught  to  read,  without  perceiving  it  to  be  any  thing  but  a  sport,  and  play  them- 
selves into  that  which  others  are  whipped  for.  Children  should  not  have  any 
thing  like  work,  or  serious,  laid  on  them ;  neither  their  minds  nor  bodies  will 
bear  it.  It  injures  their  healths ;  and  their  being  forced  and  tied  down  to  their 
books,  in  an  age  at  enmity  with  all  such  restraint,  has,  I  doubt  not,  been  the 
reason  why  a  great  many  have  hated  book.s  and  learning  all  their  lives  after:  it 
is  like  a  surfeit,  that  leaves  an  aversion,  behind  not  to  be  removed. 

144.  I  have  therefore  thought,  that  if  playthings  were  fitted  to  this  purpose, 
as  they  are  usually  to  none,  contrivances  might  be  made  to  teach  children  to 
read,  whilst  they  thought  they  were  only  playing.  For  example  ;  What  if  an 
ivory-ball  were  made  like  that  of  the  royal  oak  lottery,  witli  thirty-two  sides, 
or  rather  of  twenty-four  or  twent5--five  sides ;  and  upon  several  of  tho.se  sides 
pasted  on  an  A,  upon  several  others  B,  on  others  C,  on  others  D  ?  I  would 
have  you  begin  with  but  these  four  letters,  or  perhaps  only  two  at  first ;  and  when 
he  is  perfect  in  them,  then  add  another;  and  so  on,  till  each  side  having  one 
letter,  there  be  on  it  the  whole  alphabet.  This  I  would  have  others  play  with 
before  him,  it  being  as  good  a  sort  of  play  to  lay  a  stake  who  shall  fir,«t  throw 
an  .\  or  B.  as  who  u])nu  dice  sli.ill  tlirow  si.x  or  seven.     Tliis  lieiiig  a  [ilay 


LOCKE  ON    El>li<AllON  3(j7 

Hiuongst  you,  tempt  him  not  to  it,  lest  you  make  it  business ;  for  I  would  not 
have  him  understan  1  it  is  any  thing  but  a  play  of  older  people,  and  I  doubt 
not  but  he  will  take  to  it  of  himself.  And  that  he  may  have  the  more  reason 
to  think  it  is  a  play,  that  he  is  sometimes  in  favor  admitted  to ;  when  the  play 
is  done,  the  ball  should  be  laid  up  safe  out  of  his  reach,  that  so  it  may  not,  by  his 
having  it  in  his  keeping  at  any  time,  grow  stale  to  him. 

145.  To  keep  up  his  eagerness  to  it,  let  him  think  it  a  game  belonging  to 
those  above  him:  and  when  by  this  means  he  knows  the  letters,  by  changing 
them  into  syllables,  he  may  learn  to  read,  without  knowing  how  he  did  so,  and 
never  liave  any  chiding  or  trouble  about  it,  nor  fall  out  with  books,  because  of 
the  hard  usage  and  vexation  they  have  caused  him.  Children,  if  you  observe 
them,  take  abundance  of  pains  to  learn  several  games,  which,  if  they  should  be 
enjoined  them,  they  would  abhor  as  a  task,  and  business.  I  know  a  person  of 
great  quality,  (more  yet  to  be  honored  for  his  learning  and  virtue,  than  for  his 
rank  and  high  place,)  who,  by  pasting  on  the  six  vowels,  (for  in  our  language 
Y  is  one,)  on  the  six  sides  of  a  die,  and  the  remaining  eighteen  consonants  on 
the  sides  of  three  other  dice,  has  made  this  a  play  for  his  children,  that  he  shall 
win,  who  at  one  cast,  throws  most  words  on  these  four  dice;  whereby  his  eld- 
est son,  yet  in  coats,  has  played  himself  into  spelling,  with  great  eagerness,  and 
without  once  having  been  chid  for  it,  or  forced  to  it. 

146.  I  have  seen  little  girls  exercise  whole  hours  together,  and  take  abund- 
ance of  panis  to  be  expert  at  dibstones,  as  they  call  it.  Whilst  I  have  been, 
looking  on.  I  have  thought  it  wanted  only  some  good  contrivance  to  make  them 
employ  all  that  industry  about  something  that  might  be  more  useful  to  them : 
and  methinks  it  is  only  the  fault  and  negligence  of  elder  people,  that  it  is  not  so. 
Children  are  much  less  apt  to  bo  idle  than  men ;  and  men  are  to  be  blamed,  if 
some  part  of  that  busy  humor  be  not  turned  to  useful  things ;  wliich  migiit  be- 
made  usually  as  delightful  to  them  as  tho.se  they  are  employed  in,  if  men  would 
be  but  half  so  forward  to  lead  the  wa}'.  as  these  little  apes  would  be  to  follow. 
1  imagine  some  wise  Portuguese  heretofore  began  this  fashion  amongst  the 
children  of  his  country,  where  I  have  been  told,  as  I  said,  it  is  impossible  to 
hinder  the  children  from  learning  to  read  and  write:  and  in  some  parts  of 
France  they  teach  one  another  to  sing  and  dance  from  the  cradle. 

147.  The  letters  pasted  upon  the  sides  of  the  dice,  or  polj-gon,  were  best  to 
be  of  the  size  of  those  of  the  folio  Bible  to  begin  with,  and  none  of  them  capital 
letters;  when  once  he  can  read  what  is  printed  in  such  letters,  he  will  not  long 
be  Ignorant  of  the  great  ones:  and  in  the  beginning  he  should  not  be  perplexed 
with  variety.  Witli  this  die  also,  j^ou  might  have  a  play  just  like  tlie  royal-oak, 
wliich  would  be  another  variety;  and  play  for  cherries  or  apples,  itc. 

148.  Besides  these,  twenty  other  play.^  might  be  invented,  depending  on  let- 
ters, which  those,  who  like  this  way,  may  easily  contrive,  and  get  made  to  this 
use,  if  they  will.  But  the  four  dice  above  mentioned  I  think  so  easy  and  use- 
ful, that  it  will  be  hard  to  find  any  better,  and  there  will  be  scarce  need  of  any 
other. 

149.  Thus  much  for  learning  to  read,  whicli  let  him  never  be  driven  to,  nor 
chid  for;  cheat  him  into  it  if  you  can.  but  make  it  not  a  business  for  him.  It  is 
better  it  be  a  year  later  before  he  can  read,  than  that  he  should  this  way  get  an 
aversion  to  learning.  If  you  have  any  contests  with  him,  let  it  be  in  matters, 
of  moment,  of  truth,  and  good-nature;  but  lay  no  task  on  him  abmit  .\  B  G 


305  I.OCKE  ON   r.DUCATlON. 

Use  your  skill  to  maKe  his  will  sujiple  and  pliant  to  reason:  teach  him  to  love 
credit  and  commendation ;  to  abhor  being  thougut  ill  or  meanly  of,  especially 
by  you  and  his  mother;  and  then  the  rest  will  come  all  easily.  But,  I  think,  if 
you  will  do  that,  you  must  not  shackle  and  tie  him  up  with  rules  about  indif- 
ferent matters,  nor  rebuke  him  for  every  little  fault,  or  perhaps  some,  that  to 
others  would  seem  great  ones.     But  of  this  I  have  said  enough  already. 

150.  When  by  these  gentle  ways  he  begins  to  be  able  to  read,  some  easy 
pleasant  book,  suited  to  his  capacity,  should  be  put  into  his  hands,  wherein  the 
entertainment  that  he  finds,  might  draw  him  on,  and  reward  his  pains  in  read- 
ing; and  yet  not  such  as  should  fill  his  head  with  perfectly  useless  trumpery,  or 
lay  the  principles  of  vice  and  folly.  To  this  purpose  1  think  YEsop's  Fables  the 
best,  which  being  stories  apt  to  delight  and  entertain  a  child,  may  yet  aftbrd 
useful  refiections  to  a  grown  man;  and  if  his  memory  retain  them  all  his  life 
after,  he  will  not  repent  to  find  them  there,  amongst  his  manly  thoughts,  and 
serious  business.  If  his  JEsop  has  pictures  in  it,  it  will  entertain  him  much  the 
better,  and  encourage  him  to  read,  wlun  it  carries  the  increase  of  knowledge 
with  it:  for  such  visible  objects  children  hear  talked  of  in  vain,  and  without 
any  satisfaction,  whilst  they  have  no  ideas  of  them ;  those  ideas  being  not  to  bo 
had  from  sounds,  but  from  the  things  themselves,  or  their  pictures.  And  there- 
fore, 1  think,  as  soon  as  he  begins  to  spell,  as  many  pictures  of  animals  should 
be  got  him  as  can  be  found,  with  the  printed  names  to  them,  which  at  the  same 
time  w-ill  invite  him  to  read,  and  aftbrd  him  matter  of  inquiry  and  knowledge. 
Reynard  the  Fox  is  another  book,  I  think,  may  be  made  use  of  to  the  same 
purpo.^e.  And  if  those  about  him  will  talk  to  him  often  about  the  stories  he 
has  read,  and  hear  him  tell  them,  it  will,  besides  other  advantages,  add 
encouragement  and  delight  to  his  reading,  when  he  finds  there  is  some  use  and 
pleasure  in  it.  These  baits  seem  wiiolly  neglected  in  the  ordinary  method ;  and 
•it  is  usually  long  before  learners  find  any  use  or  pleasure  in  reading,  which 
may  tempt  them  to  it,  and  so  take  books  only  for  feshionable  amusements,  or 
impertinent  troubles,  good  for  nothing. 

151.  The  Lord's  prayer,  the  creed,  and  ten  commandments,  it  is  necessary  he 
should  learn  perfectly  by  heart ;  but,  I  think,  not  by  reading  them  himself  in 
his  primer,  but  by  somebody's  repeating  them  to  him,  even  before  he  can  read. 
But  learning  by  heart,  and  learning  to  read,  should  not,  I  think,  be  mixed,  and 
so  one  made  to  clog  the  other.  But  his  learning  to  read  should  be  made  as 
little  trouble  or  business  to  him  as  might  be. 

What  other  books  there  are  in  English  of  the  kind  of  those  above-mentioned, 
fit  to  engage  the  liking  of  children,  and  tempt  them  to  read,  I  do  not  know ; 
but  am  apt  to  think,  that  children,  being  generally  delivered  over  to  the  method 
of  scl.ools,  where  the  fear  of  the  rod  is  to  enforce,  and  not  any  pleasure  of  :he 
employment  to  invite  them  to  learn ;  this  sort  of  useful  books,  amongst  the 
number  of  silly  ones  that  are  of  all  sorts,  have  yet  had  the  fate  to  be  neglected : 
and  nothing  that  I  know  has  been  considered  of  this  kind  out  of  the  ordinary 
road  of  the  horn-book,  primer,  psalter,  Testament,  and  Bible. 

152.  As  for  the  Bible,  which  children  are  usually  employed  in,  to  exercise 
and  improve  their  talent  in  reading,  I  think  the  promiscuous  reading  of  it, 
though  by  chapters  as  they  lie  in  order,  is  so  far  from  being  of  any  advantage 
to  children,  either  for  the  perfecting  their  reading,  or  j)rincipling  their  ndigion, 
that  nerhaos  a  worse  could  not  be  found.     For  what  pleasure  or  encourage- 


I.OC'KE  ON  EDUCATION. 


wy 


ment  oan  it  be  to  a  ohild,  to  n-xercise  himself  in  reading  those  parts  of  a  book 
where  he  understands  nothing?  And  how  little  are  the  law  of  Moses,  the  Song 
of  Solomon,  the  prophecies  in  tlie  Old,  and  the  epistles  and  apocalypse  in  the 
New  Testament,  suited  to  a  child's  capacity  ?  And  though  the  history  of  the 
evangelists,  and  the  Acts,  have  something  easier;  yet,  taken  all  together,  it  is 
very  disproportional  to  the  understanding  of  childhood.  I  grant,  that  the 
principles  of  religion  are  to  be  drawn  from  thence,  and  in  the  words  of  the 
scripture;  yet  none  should  be  proposed  to  a  child,  but  su.h  as  are  suited  to  a 
child's  capacity  and  notions.  But  it  is  far  from  this  to  read  through  the  whole 
Bible,  and  that  f(;r  reading's  sake.  And  what  an  odd  jumble  of  thoughts  must 
a  child  have  in  his  head,  if  he  have  any  at  all,  such  as  he  should  have  concern- 
ing religion,  who  in  his  tender  age  reads  all  the  parts  of  the  Bible  indiflerently, 
as  the  word  of  God,  without  any  other  distinction!  I  am  aj^t  to  think,  that 
this,  in  some  men,  has  been  the  very  reason  why  they  never  had  clear  and  dis- 
tinct thoughts  of  it  all  their  lifetime. 

153.  And  now  I  am  by  chance  fallen  on  this  subject,  give  me  leave  to  say, 
that  there  are  some  parts  of  the  scripture,  which  may  be  proper  to  be  put  into 
the  hands  of  a  child  to  engage  him  to  read;  such  as  are  the  story  of  Joseph  and 
his  brethren,  of  David  and  Goliath,  of  David  and  Jonathan,  &c.,  and  others, 
that  he  should  be  made  to  read  for  his  instruction;  as  that,  "What  you  would 
have  others  do  unto  you,  do  you  the  same  unto  them ;"  and  such  other  easy  and 
plain  moral  rules,  which,  being  fitly  chosen,  might  often  be  made  use  ofj  both 
for  reading  and  instruction  together;  and  so  often  read,  till  they  are  thoroughly 
fixed  in  his  memory ;  and  then  afterwards,  as  he  grows  ripe  for  them,  may  in 
their  turns,  on  fit  occasions,  be  inculcated  as  the  standing  and  sacred  rules  of 
his  life  and  actions.  But  the  reading  of  the  whole  scripture  indifferently,  is 
what  I  think  very  inconvenient  for  children,  till,  after  having  been  made 
acquainted  with  the  plainest  fundamental  parts  of  it,  they  have  got  some  kind 
of  general  view  of  what  they  ought  principally  to  believe  and  practice,  which 
yet,  I  think,  they  ought  to  receive  in  the  very  words  of  the  scripture,  and  not 
in  such  as  men,  prepossessed  by  systems  and  analogies,  are  apt  in  this  case  to 
make  use  of,  and  force  upon  them.  Dr.  Worthington,  to  avoid  this,  has  made  a 
catechism,  which  has  all  its  answers  in  the  precise  words  of  the  scrijjture,  a 
thing  of  good  example,  and  such  a  sound  form  of  words  as  no  Christian  can 
except  against,  as  not  fit  for  his  child  to  learn.  Of  this,  as  .soon  as  he  can  say 
the  Lord's  prayer,  creed,  and  ten  commandments  by  heart,  it  may  be  tit  for  him 
to  learn  a  question  every  day,  or  every  week,  as  his  under.standing  is  able  to 
receive,  and  his  memory  to  retain  them.  And,  when  he  has  this  catechism 
perfectly  by  heart,  so  as  readily  and  roundly  to  answer  to  any  question  in  the 
whole  book,  it  may  be  convenient  to  lodge  in  his  mind  the  remaining  moral 
rules,  scattered  up  and  down  in  the  Bible,  as  the  best  exercise  of  his  memory, 
and  that  which  may  be  always  a  rule  to  him,  ready  at  hand,  in  the  whole 
conduct  of  his  life. 

WRITING. 

154.  When  he  can  read  l*higlish  well,  it  will  be  seasonable  to  enter  him  in 
writing.  And  here  the  first  thing  should  be  taught  him,  is  to  hold  his  i)en 
right;  and  this  he  should  be  perfect  in,  before  he  should  be  suffered  to  put 
it  to  paper:  Ibr  not  only  children^  but  any  body  else,  that  would  do  any  thing 
■well,  should  never  be  put  upon  too  much  of  it  at  once,  or  be  set  to  perfeci 


310 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 


themselves  in  two  parts  of  an  action  at  the  same  time,  if  they  can  possibly 
be  separated.  I  think  the  Italian  way  of  holding  the  pen  between  the  thumb 
and  the  fore-finger  alone  maybe  best;  but  in  this  you  should  consult  some 
good  writing-master,  or  any  other  person  who  writes  well  and  quick.  When 
he  has  learned  to  hold  his  pen  right,  in  the  next  place  he  should  learn  how 
to  lay  his  papw,  and  place  his  arm  and  body  to  it.  These  practices  being  got 
over,  the  way  to  teach  him  to  write  without  much  trouble,  is  to.  get  a  plate 
graved  with  the  characters  of  such  a  hand  as  you  like  best:  but  you  must 
remember  to  have  them  a  pretty  deal  bigger  than  he  should  ordinarily  write ; 
for  every  one  naturally  conies  by  degrees  to  write  a  less  hand  than  he  at 
first  was  taught,  but  never  a  bigger.  Such  a  plate  being  graved,  let  several 
sheets  of  good  writing-paper  be  printed  oft'  with  red  ink,  which  he  has  noth- 
ing to  do  but  to  go  over  with  a  good  pen  filled  with  black  ink,  which  will 
quickly  bring  his  hand  to  the  formation  of  those  characters,  being  at  first 
showed  where  to  begin,  and  how  to  form  every  letter.  And  when  he  can  do 
that  well,  he  must  then  exercise  on  fair  paper;  and  so  may  easily  be  Ijrought  to 
write  the  hand  you  desire. 

DRAWING. 

155.  AVhen  he  can  write  well,  and  quick,  I  think  it  may  be  convenient,  not 
•only  to  continue  the  exercise  of  his  hand  in  writing,  but  ah^o  to  improve  the  use 
of  it  farther  in  drawing,  a  thing  very  useful  to  a  gentleman  on  several  occa- 
sions, but  especially  if  he  travel,  as  that  which  helps  a  man  often  to  express,  in 
a  few  lines  well  put  together,  what  a  w"hole  sheet  of  paper  in  writing  would  not 
be  able  to  represent  and  make  intelligible.  How  many  buildings  may  a  man 
see,  how  many  machines  and  habits  meet  with,  the  ideas  whereof  would  be 
easily  retained  and  communicated  by  a  little  skill  in  drawing ;  which,  being 
committed  to  words,  are  in  danger  to  be  lost,  or  at  best  but  ill  retained  in  the 
most  exact  descriptions  ?  I  do  not  mean  that  I  would  iiave  your  son  a  perfect 
painter;  to  be  that  to  any  tolerable  degree,  will  require  more  time  than  a  young 
gentleman  can  spare  from  his  other  improvements  of  greater  moment ;  but  so 
much  insight  into  perspective,  and  .<kill  in  drawing,  as  will  enable  him  to  repre- 
sent tolerably  on  papi  •  any  thing  he  sees,  except  faces,  may,  I  think,  be  got  in 
a  little  time,  especially  if  he  have  a  genius  to  it ;  but  where  that  is  wanting, 
unless  it  be  in  the  things  absolutely  necessary,  it  is  better  to  let  him  pass  them 
by  quietly,  than  to  vex  him  about  them  to  no  purpose ;  and  therefore  in  this, 
as  in  all  other  things  not  aljsolutely  necessary,  the  rule  holds.  "Xihil  invita 
Minerva." 

SUOKT-IIAN"!). 

^  1.  Short-hand,  an  art,  as  I  have  been  told,  known  only  in  England,  may 
perhaps  be  thought  worth  the  learning,  both  for  dispatch  in  what  men  write  for 
their  own  memory,  and  concealment  of  what  they  would  not  have  lie  open  to 
every  eye.  For  he  that  has  once  learned  any  sort  of  character,  may  easily  vary 
it  to  his  own  private  use  or  fancy,  and  with  more  contraction  suit  it  to  the  busi- 
ness he  would  employ  it  in.  Mr.  Rich's,  the  best  contrived  of  any  I  have  seen, 
may,  as  I  think,  by  one  who  knows  and  considers  grammar  well,  be  made  much 
easier  and  shorter.  But,  for  the  learnmg  this  compendious  waj'  of  writing, 
there  will  be  no  need  hastily  to  look  out  a  master ;  it  will  be  early  enough, 
when  any  convenient  opportunity  offers  Itself,  at  any  time  after  his  hand  is  well 
settled  in  fair  and  (juiek  writing.     For  boys  have  but  little  use  of  short-hand,  and 


I.OCKE  ON  KDUCATION.  3II 

fihould  b}'  no  means  practice  it,  till  they  write  perfectly  well,  and  have  thor- 
ough 1}-  fixed  the  habit  of  doing  so. 

FRENCH. 

156.  As  soon  as  he  can  speak  English,  it  is  time  for  him  to  learn  some  other 
language ;  this  nobody  doubts  of,  when  French  is  proposed.  And  the  reason  is, 
because  people  are  accustomed  to  the  right  way  of  teaching  that  language, 
which  is  bj'  talking  it  into  children  in  constant  conversation,  and  not  by  gram- 
matical rules.  The  Latin  tongue  would  easily  be  taught  the  same  way,  if  his 
tutor,  being  constantly  with  him,  would  talk  nothing  else  to  him,  and  make  him 
answer  still  in  the  same  language.  But  because  French  is  a  living  language, 
and  to  be  used  more  in  speaking,  that  should  be  first  learned,  that  the  yet  pliant 
organs  of  speech  might  be  accustomed  to  a  due  formation  of  those  sounds,  and 
he  get  the  habit  of  pronouncing  French  well,  wliich  is  the  harder  to  be  done, 
the  longer  it  is  delaved. 


157.  When  he  can  speak  and  read  French  well,  which  in  this  method  is  usu- 
ally in  a  3^ear  or  two,  he  should  proceed  to  Latin,  which  it  is  a  wonder  parents, 
when  they  have  had  the  experiment  in  French,  sho'jld  not  think  ought  to  be 
learned  the  same  way,  by  talking  and  reading.  Only  care  is  to  be  taken,  whilst 
he  is  learning  these  foreign  languages,  by  speaking  and  reading  nothing  else 
with  his  tutor,  that  he  do  not  forget  to  read  English,  which  may  be  preserved 
by  his  mother,  or  somebody  else,  hearing  him  read  some  chosen  parts  of  the 
Scripture  or  other  English  book,  every  day. 

158.  Latin  I  look  upon  as  absolutely  necessary  to  a  gentleman;  and  indeed 
custom,  which  prevails  over  every  thing,  has  made  it  so  much  a  part  of  educa- 
tion, that  even  those  children  are  whipped  to  it,  and  made  to  spend  many  hours 
of  their  precious  time  uneasily  in  Latin,  who,  after  they  are  once  gone  from 
school,  are  never  to  have  more  to  do  with  it,  as  long  as  they  live.  Can  there 
be  any  thing  more  ridiculous,  than  that  a  father  should  waste  his  own  money, 
and  his  son's  time,  in  setting  him  to  learn  the  Roman  language,  when,  at  the 
same  time,  he  designs  him  for  a  trade,  wherein  he  having  no  use  of  Latin,  fails 
not  to  forget  that  little  which  he  brought  from  school,  and  which  it  is  ten  to  one 
he  abhors  for  the  ill  usage  it  procured  him  ?  Could  it  be  believed,  unless  we 
had  every  where  amongst  us  examples  of  it,  that  a  child  should  be  forced  to 
learn  the  rudiments  of  a  language,  which  he  is  never  to  use  in  the  course  of  life 
that  he  is  designed  to,  and  neglect  all  the  while  the  writing  a  good  hand,  and 
casting  account?,  Avhich  are  of  great  advantage  in  all  conditions  of  life,  and  to 
most  trades  indispensably  necessary  ?  But  though  these  qualifications,  requi- 
site to  trade  and  commerce,  and  the  business  of  the  world,  are  seldom  or  never 
to  be  had  at  grammar-schools  5  yet  thither  not  only  gentlemen  send  their 
younger  sons  intended  for  trades,  but  even  tradesmen  and  farmers  fail  not  to 
fiend  their  children,  though  the}''  have  neither  intention  nor  ability  to  make  them 
scholars.  If  you  ask  them,  why  they  do  this  ?  they  think  it  as  strange  a  ques- 
tion as  if  you  should  ask  tliem  why  they  go  to  church  ?  Custom  serves  for  rea- 
son, and  has,  to  those  who  take  it  for  reason,  so  consecrated  this  method,  that  it 
is  almost  religiously  observed  by  them;  and  they  stick  to  it,  as  if  their  childien 
liad  scarce  an  orthodox  education,  unless  they  learned  Lilly's  grammar. 

159.  But  how  necessary  soever  Latin  be  to  some,  and  is  thought  to  be  to 


312  LOCKK  ON  EDUCATION. 

others,  to  whom  it  is  of  no  manner  of  use  or  service,  yet  the  ordinary  way  of 
learning  it  in  a  grammar-scliool,  is  that,  which  having  had  thoughts  about,  I 
can  not  be  forward  to  encourage.  The  reasons  against  it  are  so  evident  and 
cogent,  that  they  have  prevailed  with  some  intelligent  persons  to  quit  the  or- 
dinary road,  not  without  success,  though  the  method  made  use  of  was  not  ex- 
actly that  which  I  imagine  the  easiest,  and  in  short  is  this :  to  trouble  the  child 
with  no  grammar  at  all,  but  to  have  Latin,  as  English  has  been,  without  the 
perplexity  of  rules,  talked  into  him ;  for,  if  j-ou  will  consider  it,  Latin  is  no 
more  unknown  to  a  child,  when  he  comes  into  the  world,  than  p]nglisii ;  and 
yet  he  learns  English  without  master,  rule,  or  grammar ;  and  so  might  he  Latin 
too,  as  Tully  did,  if  he  liad  somebody  always  to  talk  to  him  in  this  language. 
And  when  we  so  often  see  a  French  woman  teach  an  English  girl  to  speak  and 
read  French  perfectly,  in  a  year  or  two,  without  any  rule  of  grannnar,  or  any 
thing  else,  but  prattling  to  her;  lean  not  but  wonder,  how  gentlemen  have 
been  overseen  this  way  for  their  sons,  and  tliouglit  ihcm  more  dull  or  incapabl& 
than  their  daughters. 

160.  If  therefore  a  man  could  be  got,  who,  himself  speaking  good  Latin, 
could  always  be  about  your  son,  talk  constantly  to  him,  and  suffer  him  to  speak 
or  read  nothing  else,  this  will  be  the  true  and  genuine  way,  and  tliat  wiiich  I 
would  propose,  not  only  as  the  easiest  and  best,  wherein  a  child  might,  with- 
out pains  or  chiding,  get  a  language,  which  others  are  wont  to  be  whipped  for 
at  school,  six  or  seven  years  together;  but  also  as  that,  wherein  at  the  same 
time  he  might  have  his  mind  and  manners  formed,  and  he  be  instructed  to 
boot  in  several  sciences,  such  as  are  a  good  part  of  geography,  astronomy, 
chronology,  anatomy,  besides  some  parts  of  history,  and  all  other  parts  of 
knowledge  of  things,  that  fall  under  the  senses,  and  require  little  more 
than  memory.  For  there,  if  we  would  take  the  true  way,  our  knowledge 
should  begin,  and  in  those  things  be  laid  the  foundation;  and  not  in  the 
abstract  notions  of  logic  and  metaphysics,  which  are  titter  to  amuse,  than  in- 
form the  understanding,  in  its  first  setting  out  towards  knowledge.  "When 
young  men  have  had  their  heads  employed  a  while  in  tho.se  abstract  specula- 
tions, without  linding  the  success  and  improvement,  or  that  use  of  them  which 
they  expected,  they  are  apt  to  have  mean  thoughts,  either  of  learning,  or  them- 
selves; they  are  tempted  to  quit  their  studies,  and  throw  away  their  books,  as 
containing  nothing  but  hard  words,  and  empty  sounds:  or  else  to  conclude  that 
if  there  be  any  real  knowledge  in  them,  they  themselves  have  not  understand- 
ings capable  of  it.  That  this  is  so,  perhaps  I  could  assure  you  upon  my  own 
experience.  Amongst  other  things  to  be  learned  by  a  young  gentleman  in 
this  method,  whilst  others  of  his  age  are  wholly  taken  up  with  Latin  and  lan- 
guages, I  may  also  set  down  geometry  for  one,  having  known  a  young  gentle- 
man, bred  something  after  this  way,  able  to  deinonstrate  several  propositions  in 
Euclid,  before  he  was  thirteen. 

16L  But  if  such  a  man  can  not  be  got,  who  speaks  good  Latin,  and,  being 
able  to  instruct  your  son  in  all  these  parts  of  knowledge,  will  undertake  it  by 
this  method ;  the  next  best  is  to  have  him  taught  as  near  this  way  as  may  be, 
which  is  by  taking  some  easy  and  pleasant  book,  such  as  JEsop's  Fables,  and 
writing  the  English  translation,  (made  as  literal  as  it  can  be,)  in  one  line,  and 
the  Latin  words,  which  answer  each  of  them,  just  over  it  in  another.  These 
let  him  read  every  day  over  and  over  again,  till  he  perfectly  understands  th© 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  3I3 

liatin;  and  then  go  on  to  another  fable,  till  he  be  also  perfect  in  that,  not  omit- 
ting what  he  is  already  perfect  in,  but  sometimes  reviewing  that,  to  keep  it  in 
his  memory.  And  when  he  comes  to  write,  let  these  be  set  him  for  copies; 
which,  with  the  exercise  of  his  hand,  will  also  advance  him  in  Latin.  This 
being  a  more  imperfect  way  than  by  talking  Latin  unto  him,  the  formation  of  the 
verbs  first,  and  afterwards  the  declensions  of  the  nouns  and  pronouns  perfectly 
learnt  by  heart,  may  facilitate  his  acquaintance  with  the  genius  and  manner  of 
the  Latin  tongue,  which  varies  the  signification  of  verbs  and  nouns,  not  as  the 
modern  languages  do,  by  particles  prefixed,  but  by  changing  the  last  syllables. 
More  than  this  of  grammar  I  think  he  need  not  have,  till  he  can  read  himself 
"Sanctii  Minerva,"  with  Scioppius  and  Perizonius's  notes. 

In  teaching  of  children  this  too,  I  think,  it  is  to  be  observed,  tliat  in  niost 
eases,  where  they  stick,  they  are  not  to  be  farther  puzzled,  by  putting  them  upon 
finding  it  out  tliemselves;  as  by  asking  such  questions  as  these,  viz.:  Which  is 
the  nominative  case  in  the  sentence  they  are  to  construe  ?  or  demanding  what 
"aufero"  signifies,  to  lead  them  to  the  knowledge  what  "abstulere"  signifies, 
&c.,  when  they  can  not  readily  tell.  This  wastes  time  only  in  disturbing  them; 
for  whilst  they  are  learning,  and  applying  themselves  with  attention,  they  are 
to  be  kept  in  good  humor,  and  every  thing  made  easy  to  tliem,  and  as  pleasant 
as  possible.  Therefore,  wherever  they  are  at  a  stand,  and  are  willing  to  go 
forwards,  help  them  presently  over  the  difficulty  without  any  rebuke  or  chiding: 
remembering  that,  where  harsher  ways  are  taken,  they  are  the  effect  only  of 
pride  and  peevishness  in  the  teacher,  who  expects  childj-en  should  instantly  be 
masters  of  as  much  as  he  knows :  whereas  he  should  rather  consider,  that  his 
business  is  to  settle  in  them  habits,  not  angrily  to  inculcate  rules,  which  serve 
for  little  in  the  conduct  of  our  lives ;  at  least  are  of  no  use  to  children,  who 
forget  them  as  soon  as  given.  In  sciences  where  their  reason  is  to  be  exercised, 
I  will  not  deny,  but  this  method  may  sometimes  be  varied,  and  difficulties  pro- 
posed on  purpose  to  excite  industry,  and  accustom  the  mind  to  employ  its  whole 
strength  and  sagacity  in  reasoning.  But  yet,  I  guess,  this  is  not  to  be  done  to 
children  whilst  very  young ;  nor  at  their  entrance  upon  any  sort  of  knowledge : 
then  every  thing  of  itself  is  difficult,  and  tlie  great  use  and  skill  of  a  teacher  is 
to  make  all  as  easy  as  he  can.  But  particularly  in  learning  of  languages  there 
is  least  occasion  for  posing  of  children.  For  languages  being  to  be  learned  by 
rote,  custom,  and  memorj^,  are  tlien  spoken  in  greatest  perfection,  when  all  rules 
of  grammar  are  utterly  forgotten.  I  grant  the  grammar  of  a  language  is  some- 
times verj'  carefully  to  be  studied :  but  it  is  only  to  be  studied  by  a  grown 
man,  when  he  applies  himself  to  the  understanding  of  any  language  critically, 
which  is  seldom  the  business  of  any  but  professed  scholars.  This,  I  think, 
will  be  agreed  to,  that,  if  a  gentleman  be  to  study  any  language,  it  ought  to 
be  that  of  his  own  country,  that  he  may  understand  the  language,  which  he 
has  constant  use  of,  with  the  utmost  accuracy. 

There  is  yet  a  farther  reason,  why  masters  and  teachers  should  raise  no  diffi- 
culties to  their  scholars ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  should  smooth  their  way,  and 
readily  help  them  forwards,  where  they  find  them  stop.  Children's  minds  are 
narrow  and  weak,  and  usually  su.sceptible  but  of  one  thought  at  once.  What- 
ever is  in  a  cliild's  head,  fills  it  for  the  time,  especially  if  set  on  with  any  pas- 
sion. It  slumld  therefore  be  the  skill  and  art  of  the  teacher,  to  clear  tlicir 
heads  of  all  otlicr  thoughts,  wliilst  they  are  learning  of  any  thing,  tlie  bettc" 


314  I-OCKK  ON  EDUCATION. 

to  nuiKo  room  for  what  he  would  instill  into  them,  that  it  may  be  received 
with  attention  and  application,  without  which  it  leaves  no  impression.  The 
natural  temper  of  children  disposes  their  minds  to  wander.  Novelty  alone 
takes  them ;  whatever  that  presents,  they  are  presently  eager  to  have  a  taste 
of,  and  are  as  soon  satiated  witli  it.  They  quickly  grow  weary  of  the  same 
thing,  and  so  have  almost  their  whole  deliuht  in  change  and  variety.  It  is 
a  contradiction  to  the  natural  state  of  childhood,  for  them  to  fix  their  fleeting 
thoughts.  Whether  this  be  owing  to  the  temper  of  their  brains,  or  the  quick- 
ness or  instability  of  their  animal  spirits,  over  which  the  mind  has  not  yet  got 
a  full  command ;  this  is  visible,  that  it  is  a  pain  to  children  to  keep  their 
thoughts  steady  to  any  thing.  A  lasting  continued  attention  is  one  of  the 
hardest  tasks  can  be  imposed  on  them :  and  therefore,  lie  tliat  requires  their 
application,  should  endeavor  to  make  what  he  proposes  as  grateful  and 
agreeable  as  possible;  at  least,  he  ought  to  take  care  not  to  join  any  dis- 
pleasing or  frightful  idea  with  it.  If  they  come  not  to  their  books  with  some 
kind  of  liking  and  relish,  it  is  no  wonder  their  thoughts  sluiuld  be  perpetually 
shifting  from  what  disgusts  them,  and  seek  better  entertainment  in  more 
pleasing  objects,  after  which  they  will  unavoidably  be  gadding. 

It  is,  I  know,  the  usual  method  of  tutors,  to  endeavor  to  procure  attention 
in  their  scholars,  and  to  fix  their  minds  to  the  business  in  hand,  by  rebukes 
and  corrections,  if  they  find  them  ever  so  little  wandering.  But  such  treat- 
ment is  sure  to  produce  the  quite  contrary  effect.  Passionate  words  or  blows 
from  the  tutor  fill  the  cliild's  mind  with  terror  and  affrightment,  which  im- 
mediately takes  it  wholly  up,  and  leaves  no  room  for  other  impressions.  I 
believe  there  is  nobody,  that  reads  this,  but  may  recollect,  what  disorder 
hasty  or  imperious  words  from  his  parents  or  teachers  have  caused  in  his 
thoughts;  how  for  the  time  it  has  turned  his  brains,  so  that  he  scarce  knew 
what  was  said  b}',  or  to  him :  he  presently  lost  the  sight  of  what  he  was 
upon ;  his  mind  was  filled  with  disorder  and  confusion,  and  in  that  state  was 
no  longer  capable  of  attention  to  anj'  thing  else. 

It  is  true,  parents  and  governors  ought  to  settle  and  establish  their 
authoritj',  by  an  awe  over  the  minds  of  those  under  their  tuition ;  and  to 
rule  them  by  that:  but  when  they  have  got  an  ascendant  over  them,  they 
should  u:re  it  with  great  moderation,  and  not  make  themselves  such  scare- 
crows, that  their  scholars  should  always  tremble  in  their  sight.  Such  an 
austerity  may  make  their  government  easy  to  themselves,  but  of  very  little 
use  to  their  pupils.  It  is  impossible  children  should  learn  anj'  thing,  whilst 
their  thoughts  are  possessed  and  disturbed  with  any  passion,  especially  fear, 
which  makes  the  strongest  impression  on  their  yet  tender  and  weak  spirits. 
Keep  the  mind  in  an  easy  calm  temper,  when  you  would  have  it  receive  your 
instructions,  or  any  increase  of  knowledge.  It  is  as  impossible  to  draw  fair  and 
regular  characters  on  a  trembling  mind,  as  on  a  shaking  paper. 

The  great  skill  of  a  teacher  is  to  get  and  keep  the  attention  of  his  scholar: 
whilst  he  has  that,  he  is  sure  to  advance  as  fast  as  the  learner's  abilities  will 
carry  him ;  and  without  that,  all  his  bustle  and  pother  will  be  to  little  or  no 
purpose.  To  attain  this,  he  should  make  the  child  comprehend,  (as  much  aa 
may  be,)  the  usefulness  of  what  he  teaches  him ;  and  let  him  see,  by  what  he 
has  learned,  that  he  can  do  something  which  he  could  not  do  before ;  some- 
thing which  gives  him  some  power  and  real  advantage  above  others,  who  are 


LOCKE  ON  KDIICATION.  3] 5 

ignorant  of  it.  To.  this  he  should  add  sweetness  in  all  his  instructions ;  and  by 
a  certain  tenderness  in  his  whole  carriage,  make  the  child  sensible  that  he  loves 
him,  and  designs  nothing  but  his  good  ;  the  only  way  to  beget  love  in  the  child, 
which  will  make  him  hearken  to  his  lessons,  and  relish  what  he  teaches  him. 

Nothing  but  obstinacy  should  meet  with  any  imperiousness  or  rough  usage. 
All  other  limits  should  be  corrected  with  a  gentle  hand ;  and  kind  encouraging 
words  will  work  better  and  more  effectually  upon  a  willing  mind  and  even 
prevent  a  good  deal  of  that  perverseness,  which  rough  and  imperious  usage 
often  produces  in  well-disposed  and  generous  minds.  It  is  true,  obstinacy  and 
willful  neglects  must  be  mastered,  even  though  it  cost  blows  to  do  it :  but  I  am 
apt  to  think  perverseness  in  the  pupils  is  often  the  effect  of  forwardness  in  the 
tutor:  and  that  most  children  would  seldom  have  deserved  blows,  if  needless 
and  misapplied  roughness  had  not  taught  them  ill-nature,  and  given  them  an 
aversion  to  their  teacher  and  all  that  comes  from  him. 

Inadvertency,  forgetfuhioss.  unsteadiness,  and  wandering  of  thought,  are  the 
natural  laults  of  childhood ;  and  therefore,  when  they  are  not  observed  to  be 
wiUl'ul,  are  to  be  mentioned  softly,  and  gained  upon  by  time.  If  every  slip  of 
this  kind  produces  anger  and  rating,  the  occasions  of  rebuke  and  corrections 
will  return  so  often  that  the  tutor  will  be  a  constant  terror  and  uneasiness  to 
his  pupils  ;  wliich  one  thing  is  enough  to  hinder  their  profiting  by  his  lessons, 
and  to  defeat  all  his  methods  of  instruction. 

Let  the  awe  he  has  got  upon  their  minds  be  so  tempered  with  tlie  constant 
marks  of  tenderness  and  good  will,  that  affection  may  spur  them  to  their  duty, 
and  make  them  find  a  pleasure  in  complying  with  his  dictates.  This  will  bring 
them  with  satisfl'.ction  to  their  tutor;  make  them  hearken  to  him,  as  to  one  who 
is  their  friend,  that  cherishes  them,  and  takes  pains  for  their  good ;  this  will 
keej)  their  thoughts  easy  and  free,  whilst  they  are  with  him,  the  only  temper 
wherein  the  mind  is  capable  of  receiving  new  informations,  and  of  admitting 
into  itself  those  impressions,  which  if  not  taken  and  retained,  all  that  they  and 
their  teacher  do  together  is  lost  labor ;  there  is  much  uneasiness,  and  little 
learning. 

102.  When,  by  this  way  of  interlining  Latin  and  P^nglish  one  with  another, 
he  has  got  a  moderate  knowledge  of  the  Latin  tongue,  he  may  then  be  advanced 
a  little  farther  to  the  reading  of  some  other  easy  Latin  book,  such  as  Justin,  or 
Eutropius ;  and  to  make  the  reading  and  understanding  of  it  the  less  tedious 
and  difficult  to  him,  let  him  help  himselfj  if  the  please,  with  the  English  transla- 
tion. Xor  let  the  objection,  that  he  will  then  know  it  only  by  rote,  fright  any 
one.  Tiiis,  when  well  considered,  is  not  of  any  moment  against,  but  plainly 
for,  this  way  of  learning  a  language;  for  languages  are  only  to  be  learned  b}' 
rote ;  and  a  man,  who  does  not  speak  English  or  Latin  perfectly  by  rote,  so  that 
having  thought  of  the  thing  he  would  speak  of,  his  tongue  of  course,  without 
thought  of  rule  or  grammar,  falls  into  the  proper  expression  and  idiom  of  that 
language,  does  not  speak  it  well,  nor  is  ma!5ter  of  it.  And  I  would  fain  have 
any  one  name  to  me  that  tongue,  that  any  one  can  learn  or  speak  as  he  should 
do,  by  the  rules  of  grammar.  Languages  were  made  not  by  rules  or  art,  but 
by  accident,  and  the  common  use  of  the  people.  And  he  that  will  speak  them 
well,  has  no  other  rule  but  that;  nor  any  thing  to  trust  to  but  his  memory,  and 
the  habit  of  speaking  after  the  fashion  learned  from  those  that  are  allowed  to 
speak  properly,  which,  in  other  words,  is  only  to  speak  by  rote. 


316  I.OCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 


GRAMMAR. 

It  will  possibly  be  asKed  here,  Is  grammar  then  of  no  use  ?  And  have  thobe 
who  have  taken  so  much  pains  in  reducing  several  languages  to  rules  and  ob- 
servations, who  have  writ  so  much  about  declensions  and  conjugations,  about 
concords  and  syntaxis,  lost  their  labor,  and  been  learned  to  no  purpose?  I  say 
not  so;  grammar  has  its  place  too.  But  this  I  think  I  may  say,  there  is  more 
stir  a  great  deal  made  with  it  than  there  needs,  and  those  are  tormented  about 
it,  to  whom  it  does  not  at  all  belong;  I  mean  children,  at  the  age  wherein  they 
are  u.'^ually  perplexed  with  it  in  grammar  schools. 

There  is  notliing  more  evident,  than  that  languages  learned  l)y  rote  serve  well 
enough  for  the  common  affairs  of  life,  and  ordinary  commerce.  Nay,  persons 
of  quality  of  the  softer  sex,  and  such  of  them  as  have  spent  their  time  in  well- 
bred  company,  show  us,  that  this  plain  natural  way,  without  the  least  study  or 
knowledge  of  grammar,  can  carry  them  to  a  great  degree  of  elegancj-  and  polite- 
ness in  their  language:  and  there  are  ladies  who,  without  knowing  what  tenses 
and  participles,  adverbs  and  prepositions  are,  speak  as  properly,  and  as  correctly, 
(the}^  might  take  it  for  an  ill  compliment,  if  I  said  as  any  country  school-master,) 
as  most  gentlemen  who  have  been  bred  up  in  the  ordinary  methods  of  grammar 
schools.  Grammar,  therefore,  we  see  may  be  .spared  in  some  cases.  The  ques- 
tion then  will  be.  To  whom  should  it  be  taught,  and  when  ?     To  this  I  answer, 

1.  Men  learn  languages  for  the  ordinary  intercourse  of  society,  and  com- 
munication of  thoughts  in  common  life,  without  any  farther  design  in  their  use 
of  them.  And  for  this  purpose  the  original  way  of  learning  a  language  l)y  con- 
versation not  only  serves  well  enough,  but  is  to  be  preferred  as  the  most  ex- 
pedite, proper,  and  natural.  Therefore,  to  this  use  of  language  one  may  answer, 
that  grammar  is  not  necessary.  This  so  many  of  my  readers  must  be  forced  to 
allow,  as  understand  what  I  here  say,  and  who  conversing  with  others,  under- 
stand them  without  having  ever  been  taught  the  grammar  of  the  English 
tongue:  which  I  suppose  is  the  case  of  incomparably  the  greatest  part  of  Eng- 
lishmen; of  whom  I  have  never  yet  known  an_y  one  who  learned  his  mother- 
tongue  by  rules. 

2.  Others  there  are,  the  greatest  i)art  of  whose  business  in  this  world  is  to  be 
done  with  their  tongues,  and  with  their  pens;  and  to  those  it  is  convenient,  if 
not  necessaiy,  that  they  should  speak  properly  and  correctly,  whereby  they 
may  let  their  thoughts  into  other  men's  minds  the  more  easily,  and  with  the 
greater  impression.  Upon  this  account  it  i.s,  that  any  sort  of  speaking,  .•^o  as 
will  make  him  be  understood,  is  not  tliought  enough  for  a  gentleman.  He 
ought  to  study  grannnar,  amongst  the  other  helps  of  speaking  well;  but  it  must 
be  the  grammar  of  his  own  tongue,  of  the  language  he  uses,  that  he  may  under- 
stand his  own  country  speech  nicely,  and  speak  it  properlj^,  without  shocking 
the  ears  of  those  it  is  addressed  to  with  solecisms  and  offensive  irregularities. 
And  to  this  purpose  grammar  is  necessary;  but  it  is  the  grammar  only  of  their 
own  proper  tongues,  and  to  those  only  who  would  take  pains  in  cultivating 
their  language,  and  in  perfecting  their  styles.  Whether  all  gentlemen  shotild 
not  do  this,  I  leave  to  be  considered,  since  the  want  of  propriety-,  and  gratn- 
matical  exactne.s.s,  is  thought  very  mis-becoming  one  of  that  rank,  and  usually 
draws  on  one  guilty  of  such  faults  the  censure  of  having  had  a  lower  breeding, 
and  worse  company  than  suits  with  iiis  (juality.     If  this  be  so,  (as  I  suppose  it. 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  317 

is,)  it  will  be  matter  of  wonder,  why  young  gentlemen  are  forced  to  learn  the 
grammars  of  foreign  and  dead  languages,  and  are  never  once  told  of  the  gram- 
mar of  their  own  tongues :  they  do  not  so  much  as  know  there  is  any  such 
thing,  much  less  is  it  made  their  business  to  be  instructed  in  it.  Nor  is  their 
own  language  ever  proposed  to  them  as  worthy  their  caro  and  cultivating, 
though  they  have  daily  use  of  it,  and  are  not  seldom  in  the  future  course  of 
their  lives  judged  of,  by  their  handsome  or  awkward  way  of  expressing  them- 
selves in  it.  Whereas  the  languages  whose  grammars  they  have  been  so  much 
■employed  in,  are  such  as  probably  they  shall  scarce  ever  speak  or  write ;  or,  if 
upon  occasion  this  should  happen,  they  shall  be  excused  for  the  mistakes  and 
faults  they  make  in  it.  Would  not  a  Chinese,  who  took  notice  of  this  way  of 
breeding,  be  apt  to  imagine,  that  all  our  young  gentlemen  were  designed  to  be 
teachers  and  professors  of  the  dead  languages  of  foreign  countries,  and  not  to 
be  men  of  business  in  their  own  ? 

3.  There  is  a  third  sort  of  men,  who  apply  themselves  to  two  or  three  foreign. 
-dead,  (and  which  amongst  us  are  called  the  learned,)  languages,  make  them 
their  study,  and  pique  themselves  upon  their  skill  in  them.  No  doubt  those 
who  propose  to  themselves  the  learning  of  any  language  with  this  view,  and 
would  be  critically  exact  in  it,  ought  carefully  to  study  the  grammar  of  it.  I 
would  not  be  mistaken  here,  as  if  this  were  to  under-value  Greek  and  Latin  :  I 
grant  these  are  languages  of  great  use  and  excellency ;  and  a  man  can  have  no 
place  amongst  the  learned,  in  this  part  of  the  world,  who  is  a  stranger  to  them. 
But  the  knowledge  a  gentleman  would  ordinarily  draw  for  his  use,  out  of  the 
Roman  and  Greek  writers,  I  think  he  may  attain  without  studying  the  gram- 
mars of  those  tongues,  and,  by  bare  reading,  may  come  to  understand  them 
suflBciently  for  all  his  purposes.  How  much  farther  he  shall  at  any  time  be 
concerned  to  look  into  the  grammar  and  critical  niceties  of  either  of  these 
tongues,  he  himself  will  be  able  to  determine,  when  he  comes  to  propose  to 
himself  the  study  of  any  thing  that  shall  require  it.  Which  brings  me  to  the 
other  part  of  the  inquiry,  viz. : — 

"  When  grammar  sliould  be  taught?" 

To  which,  upon  tlie  premised  grounds,  the  answer  is  obvious,  viz. : — 

That  if  grammar  ought  to  be  taught  at  any  time,  it  must  be  to  one  that  can 
speak  the  language  already:  how  else  can  he  be  taught  the  grammar  of  it? 
This,  at  least,  is  evident  from  the  practice  of  the  wise  and  learned  nations 
amongst  the  ancients.  They  made  it  a  part  of  education  to  cultivate  their  own, 
not  foreign  tongues.  The  Greeks  counted  all  other  nations  barbarous,  and  had 
3.  contempt  for  their  languages.  And,  though  the  Greek  learning  grew  in  credit 
amongst  the  Romans,  towards  the  end  of  their  commonwealth,  yet  it  was  the 
Roman  tongue  that  was  made  the  study  of  their  youth :  their  own  language 
they  were  to  make  use  of^  and  therefore  it  was  their  own  language  they  were 
instructed  and  exercised  in. 

But  more  particularly  to  determine  the  proper  season  for  grammar ;  I  do  not 
see  how  it  can  reasonably  be  made  any  one's  study,  but  as  an  introduction  to 
rhetoric :  when  it  is  thought  time  to  put  any  one  upon  the  care  of  polishing  his 
tongue,  and  of  speaking  better  than  the  illiterate,  then  is  the  time  for  him  to  be 
instructed  in  the  rules  of  grammar,  and  not  before.  For  grammar  being  to 
teach  men  not  to  speak,  but  to  speak  correctly,  and  according  to  the  exact  rules 
of  the  tongue,  which   is  one  part  of  elegancy,  there  is  little  use  of  the  one  to 


;^  J  y  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

liira  that  has  no  need  of  the  other;  where  rhetoric  is  not  necessary,  grammar 
may  be  spared.  I  know  not  why  any  one  should  waste  liis  time  and  beat  his 
head  about  the  Latin  grammar,  who  does  not  intend  to  be  a  critic,  or  make 
speeches,  and  write  dispatches  in  it.  When  any  one  finds  in  himself  a  necessity 
or  disposition  to  study  any  foreign  language  to  the  bottom,  and  to  be  nicely 
exact  in  the  knowledge  of  it,  it  will  be  time  enough  to  take  a  grammatical 
survey  of  it.  If  his  use  of  it  be  only  to  understand  some  books  writ  in  it  with- 
out a  critical  knowledge  of  the  tongue  itself,  reading  alone,  as  I  have  said,  will 
attain  this  end,  without  charging  the  mind  with  the  multiplied  rules  and  intri- 
cacies of  grammar. 

163.  For  the  exercise  of  his  writing,  let  him  sometimes  translate  Latin  into 
English :  but  the  learning  of  Latin  being  nothing  but  the  learning  of  words,  a 
very  unpleasant  business  both  to  young  and  old,  join  as  much  other  real 
knowledge  with  it  as  you  can,  beginning  still  with  that  wh.ofi  lies  most  obvious 
to  the  senses;  such  as  is  the  knowledge  of  minerals,  plants,  and  animals,  and 
particularly  timber  and  fruit  trees,  their  parts  and  ways  of  propagation,  wherein 
a  great  deal  may  be  taught  a  child,  which  will  not  be  useless  to  the  man.  But 
more  especially  geography,  astronomy,  and  anatomy.  But  whatever  you  are 
teaching  him,  have  a  care  still,  that  you  do  not  clog  him  with  too  much  al 
once ;  or  make  any  thing  his  business  but  downright  virtue,  or  reprove  him  for 
any  thing  but  vice,  or  some  apparent  tendency  to  it. 


164.  But,  if,  after  all,  his  fate  be  to  go  to  school  to  get  the  Latin  tongue,  it 
will  be  in  vain  to  talk  to  you  concerning  the  method  I  think  best  to  be  observed 
in  schools.  You  must  submit  to  that  j'ou  find  there,  not  expect  to  have  it 
changed  for  your  son ;  but  yet  by  all  means  obtain,  if  you  can,  that  he  be  not 
employed  in  making  Latin  tliemes  and  declamations,  and,  least  of  all,  verses  of 
any  kind.*  You  may  insist  on  it,  if  it  will  do  any  good,  that  you  have  no 
design  to  make  him  either  a  Latin  orator  or  poet,  but  barely  would  have  him 
understand  perfectly  a  Latin  author ;  and  that  you  observe  those  who  teach  any 
of  the  modern  languages,  and  that  with  success,  never  amuse  their  scholars  to 
make  speeches  or  verses  either  in  French  or  Italian,  their  business  being 
language  barely  and  not  invention. 

165.  But  to  tell  you,  a  little  more  fullj^  why  I  would  not  have  him  exercised 
in  making  of  themes  and  verses :  1.  As  to  themes,  thej'  have,  I  confess,  the 
pretense  of  something  u.-^eful,  which  is  to  teach  people  to  speak  handsomely  and 
well  on  any  subject ;  which,  if  it  could  be  attained  this  way,  I  own  would  be  a 
great  advantage ;  there  being  nothing  more  becoming  a  gentleman,  nor  more 
useful  in  all  the  occurrences  of  life,  than  to  be  able,  on  any  occasion,  to  speak 
well,  and  to  the  purpose.  But  this  I  say,  that  the  making  of  themes,  as  is  usual 
in  schools,  helps  not  one  jot  towards  it :  for  do  but  consider  what  it  is  in  making 
a  theme  that  a  young  lad  is  employed  about ;  it  is  to  make  a  speech  on  some 
Latin  i^a3'ing,  as  "  Omnia  vincitamor,"  or  "  Non  licet  in  bello  bis  peccare,"  &c. 
And  here  the  poor  lad,  who  wants  knowledge  of  those  things  he  is  to  speak  of, 
which  is  to  be  had  only  from  time  and  observation,  must  set  his  invention  on 

*  In  this  and  several  following  topics,  tho  anthor  seems  entirely  to  overlook  the  benefits  of 
proc//cc.  tlie  most  effectual  mettioii  ot"  learning.  — Ed. 


r,0(;KE  ON  EDICATION.  319 

the  rack,  to  say  f^omething  where  be  knows  nothing,  which  is  a  sort  of  Egyptian 
tyranny,  to  bid  tJiem  make  bricks  who  have  not  yet  any  of  the  materials  And 
thereibre  it  is  usual,  in  such  cases,  for  the  poor  children  to  go  to  those  of  higher 
forms  with  this  petition,  "Pray  give  me  a  little  sense;"  which  whether  it  be 
more  reasonable  or  more  ridiculous,  is  not  easy  to  determine.  Before  a  man  can 
be  in  any  capacity  to  speak  on  any  subject,  it  is  necessary  he  be  acquainted  with 
it ;  or  else  it  is  as  foolish  to  set  him  to  discourse  of  it,  as  to  set  a  blind  man  to 
talk  of  CDlors,  or  a  deaf  man  of  music.  And  would  you  not  think  him  a  little 
cracked  who  would  require  anotlicr  to  make  an  argument  on  a  moot-point,  who 
understands  nothing  of  our  laws?  And  what,  I  pray,  do  school-boys  imder- 
stand  concerning  those  matters,  which  are  used  to  be  proposed  to  them  in  tlicir 
themes,  as  subjects  to  discourse  on,  to  whet  and  exercise  their  fancies  ? 

166.  In  the  next  place,  consider  the  language  that  their  themes  are  made  in : 
it  is  Latin,  a  language  foreign  in  their  country,  and  long  since  dead  everywhere; 
a  language  which  your  sou,  it  is  a  tJiousand  to  one,  shall  never  have  an  occasion 
once  to  make  a  speech  in  as  long  as  he  lives,  after  he  comes  to  be  a  man;  and 
a  language,  wherein  the  manner  of  expressing  one's  self  is  so  far  diflerent  from 
ours,  that  to  be  perfect  in  that,  would  very  little  improve  the  purity  and  facility 
of  his  English  style.  Besides  that,  there  is  now  so  little  room  or  use  for  set 
speeches  in  our  own  language  in  any  part  of  our  English  business,  that  I  can 
see  no  pretense  for  this  sort  of  exercise  in  our  schools ;  unless  it  can  be  supposed, 
that  the  making  of  set  Latin  speeches  should  be  the  way  to  teach  men  to  speak 
well  in  English  extempore.  The  way  to  that  I  should  think  rather  to  be  this : 
that  there  should  bo  proposed  to  young  gentlemen  rational  and  useful  questions, 
suited  to  their  age  and  capacities,  and  on  subjects  not  wholly  unknown  to  them, 
nor  out  of  their  way :  such  as  these,  when  they  are  ripe  for  exercises  of  this 
nature,  they  should,  extempoi-e,  or  after  a  little  meditation  upon  the  spot,  speak 
to,  without  penning  of  any  thing.  For  I  ask,  if  he  will  examine  the  effects  of 
this  way  of  learning  to  speak  well,  who  speak  best  in  any  business,  when  occa- 
sion calls  them  to  it  upon  any  debate  :  either  those  who  have  accustomed  them- 
selves to  compose  and  write  down  beforehand  what  they  would  say,  or  those 
who  thinking  only  of  the  matter,  to  understand  that  as  well  as  they  can,  use 
themselves  only  to  speak  extempore  ?  And  he  that  shall  judge  by  this,  will  be 
little  apt  to  think,  that  the  accustoming  him  to  studied  speeches,  and  set  com- 
positions, is  the  way  to  fit  a  young  gentleman  for  business. 

167.  But,  perhaps,  we  shall  be  told,  it  is  to  improve  and  perfect  them  in  the 
Latin  tongue.  It  is  true,  that  is  their  proper  business  at  school;  but  the  mak- 
ing of  themes  is  not  the  way  to  it :  that  perplexes  their  brains,  about  invention 
of  things  to  be  said,  not  about  the  signification  of  words  to  be  learnt ;  and, 
when  they  are  making  a  theme,  it  is  thoughts  they  search  and  sweat  for,  and 
not  language.  But  the  learning  and  mastery  of  a  tongue,  being  uneasy  and 
unpleasant  enough  in  itself,  should  not  be  cumbered  with  any  other  difiBculties, 
as  is  done  in  this  way  of  proceeding.  In  fine,  if  boys'  invention  be  to  be 
quickened  by  such  exercise,  let  them  make  themes  in  English,  where  they  have 
facility,  and  a  command  of  words,  and  will  better  see  what  kind  of  thoughts 
they  have,  when  put  into  their  own  language:  and,  if  the  Latin  tongue  be 
to  be  learned,  let  it  be  done  in  the  easiest  way,  without  toiling  and  dis- 
gusting the  mind  by  so  unca.«y  an  employment  as  that  of  making  speeches  joined 
to  it. 


320  I.OCKE   ON   KDICATION. 

VERSIFYING. 

168.  If  these  may  be  anj'  reasons  against  cliildren's  making  Latin  themes  at 
school,  I  have  much  more  to  say.  and  of  more  weight,  against  their  making 
verses  of  any  sort:  for  if  he  has  no  genius  to  poetry,  it  is  the  most  unreason- 
able thing  in  the  world  to  torment  a  child,  and  waste  his  time  about  that  which 
can  never  succeed ;  and  if  he  have  a  poetic  vein,  it  is  to  me  the  strangest  thing 
in  the  world,  that  the  father  should  desire  or  suffer  it  to  be  cherished  or  im- 
proved. Methinks  the  parents  should  labor  to  have  it  stifled  and  suppressed  as 
n-.ach  as  may  be  ;  and  I  know  not  what  reason  a  father  can  have  to  wish  his 
son  a  poet,  who  does  not  desire  to  have  him  bid  defiance  to  all  other  callings 
and  business:  which  is  not  yet  the  worst  of  the  case;  for  if  he  proves  a  suc- 
cessful rhymer,  and  gets  once  the  reputation  of  a  wit,  I  desire  it  may  be  con- 
sidered what  company  and  places  he  is  likely  to  spend  his  time  in,  nay  and 
estate  too :  for  it  is  very  seldom  seen,  that  any  one  discovers  mines  of  gold,  or 
silver  in  Parnassus.  It  is  a  pleasant  air,  but  a  barren  soil;  and  there  are  very 
few  instances  of  those  who  have  added  to  their  patrimony  by  any  thing  they 
have  reaped  from  thence.  Poetry  and  gaming,  which  usually  go  together,  are 
alike  in  this  too,  that  they  seldom  bring  any  advantage,  but  to  those  who  have 
uotliing  else  to  live  on.  Men  of  estates  almost  constantly  go  away  losers;  and 
it  is  well  if  they  es.ape  at  a  cheaper  rate  than  their  whole  estates,  or  the 
greatest  part  of  them,  li]  therefore,  you  would  not  have  your  son  the  fiddle  to 
every  jovial  compaiij',  without  whom  the  sparks  could  not  relish  their  wine,  nor 
know  how  to  pass  an  afternoon  idly;  if  you  would  not  have  him  waste  his  time 
and  estate  to  divert  others,  and  contemn  the  dirty  acres  left  him  by  his  ances- 
tors, I  do  not  tlrnk  j'ou  will  much  care  he  should  be  a  poet,  or  that  his  school- 
master should  enter  him  in  versifying.  But  yet,  if  any  one  will  think  poetry  a 
desirable  quality  in  his  son,  and  that  the  study  of  it  would  raise  his  fancy  and 
parts,  he  must  needs  yet  confess,  that,  to  that  end,  reading  the  excellent  Greek 
and  Roman  poets  is  of  more  use  than  making  bad  verses  of  his  own,  in  a 
language  that  is  not  his  own.  And  he,  whose  design  it  is  to  excel  in  English 
poetry,  would  not,  I  guess,  think  the  way  to  it  were  to  make  his  first  e-ssays  in 
Latin  verses. 

JIEMOKITER    RECITATION. 

169.  Another  thing,  very  ordinary  in  the  vulgar  method  of  grammar-schools, 
there  is,  of  which  I  see  no  use  at  all,  unless  it  be  to  balk  young  lads  in  the  way 
to  learning  languages,  which,  in  my  opinion,  should  be  made  as  easy  and 
pleasant  as  may  be ;  and  that  which  was  painful  in  it,  as  much  as  possible, 
quite  removed.  That  which  I  mean,  and  here  complain  of,  is,  their  being  forced 
to  learn  by  heart  great  parcels  of  the  authors  which  are  taught  them  ;  wherein  I 
nan  discover  no  advantage  at  all,  especially  to  the  business  they  are  upon. 
Languages  are  to  be  learnt  only  by  reading  and  talking,  and  not  by  scraps  of 
authors  got  by  heart ;  which  when  a  man's  hc;id  is  stuH'ed  with,  he  has  got  the 
just  furniture  of  a  pedant,  and  it  is  the  ready  wa}-  to  make  him  one,  than  which 
there  is  nothing  less  becoming  a  gentleman.  For  what  can  bo  more  ridiculous, 
than  to  mix  the  rich  and  handsome  thoughts  and  sayings  of  others  with  a  deal 
of  poor  stuff  of  his  own;  which  is  thereby  the  more  exposed;  and  has  no 
other  grace  in  it,  nor  will  otherwise  recommend  the  speaker  than  a  thread-bare 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  321 

russet  coat  would,  that  was  set  off  with  large  patches  of  scarlet  and  glittering 
brocade  ?  Indeed,  where  a  passage  comes  in  the  way,  whose  matter  is  worth 
remembrance,  and  the  expression  of  it  very  close  and  excellent,  (as  there  are 
many  such  in  the  ancient  authors,)  it  may  not  be  anyss  to  lodge  it  in  the  minds 
of  young  scholars,  and  with  such  admirable  strokes  of  those  great  masters 
sometimes  exercise  the  memories  of  school-boys :  but  their  learning  of  their 
lessons  by  heart,  as  they  happen  to  fall  out  in  their  books,  without  choice  or  dis- 
tinction, I  know  not  what  it  serves  for,  but  to  mispend  their  time  and  pains,  and 
give  them  a  disgust  and  aversion  to  their  books,  wherein  they  find  nothing  but 
useless  trouble. 

170.  I  hear  it  is  said,  that  children  should  be  employed  in  getting  things  by 
heart,  to  exercise  and  improve  their  memories.  I  could  wish  this  were  said 
with  as  much  authority  of  reason,  as  it  is  with  forwardness  of  assurance ;  and 
that  this  practice  were  established  upon  good  observation,  more  than  old  cus- 
tom ;  for  it  is  evident,  that  strength  of  memory  is  owing  to  a  happy  constitu- 
tion, and  not  to  any  habitual  improvement  got  by  exercise.  It  is  true,  what 
the  mind  is  intent  upon,  and  for  fear  of  letting  it  slip,  often  imprints  afresh  on 
itself  by  frequent  retiection,  that  it  is  apt  to  retain,  but  still  according  to  its  own 
natural  strength  of  retention.  An  impression  made  on  beeswax  or  lead  will 
not  last  so  long  as  on  brass  or  steel.  Indeed,  if  it  be  renewed  often,  it  may  last 
the  longer ;  but  every  new  reflecting  on  it  is  a  new  impression,  and  it  is  from 
thence  one  is  to  reckon,  if  one  would  know  how  long  the  mind  retains  it.  But 
the  learning  pages  of  Latin  by  heart,  no  more  fits  the  memory  for  retention  of 
any  thing  else,  than  the  graving  of  one  sentence  in  lead,  makes  it  the  more 
capable  of  retaining  firmly  any  other  characters.  If  such  a  sort  of  exercise  of 
the  memory  were  able  to  give  it  strength,  and  improve  our  parts,  players  of  all 
other  people  must  needs  have  the  best  memories,  and  be  the  best  company:  but 
whether  the  scraps  they  have  got  into  their  head  this  -way,  make  them  remem- 
ber other  things  the  better;  and  whether  their  parts  be  improved  proportion- 
ably  to  the  pains  they  have  taken  in  getting  by  heart  other  sayings ;  experience- 
will  show.  Memory  is  so  necessary  to  all  parts  and  conditions  of  life,  and  so 
little  is  to  be  done  without  it,  that  we  are  not  to  fear  it  should  grow  dull  and. 
useless  for  want  of  exercise,  if  exercise  would  make  it  grow  stronger.  But  I 
fear  this  faculty  of  the  mind  is  not  capable  of  much  help  and  amendment  in 
general,  by  any  exercise  or  endeavor  of  ours,  at  least  not  by  that  used  upon  ^ 
this  pretense  in  grammar-schools.  And  if  Xerxes  was  able  to  call  every  com- 
mon soldier  by  his  name,  in  his  army,  that  consisted  of  no  less  than  a  hundred- 
thousand  men,  I  think  it  may  be  guessed,  he  got  not  this  wonderful  ability  by 
learning  his  lessons  by  heart,  when  he  was  a  boy.  This  method  of  exercising 
and  improving  the  memory  by  toilsome  repetitions,  without  book,  of  what  they. 
read,  is,  I  think,  little  used  in  the  education  of  princes ;  which,  if  it  had  that 
advantage  talked  of,  should  be  as  little  neglected  in  them,  as  in  the  meanest^ 
school-boys;  princes  having  as  much  need  of  good  memories  as  any  men  living, 
and  have  generally  an  equal  share  in  this  faculty  with  other  men:  though  it  has 
never  been  taken  care  of  this  way.  What  the  mind  is  intent  upon,  and  careful 
of;  that  it  remembers  best,  and  for  the  reason  above  mentioned:  to  which  if 
method  and  order  be  joined,  all  is  done,  I  think,  that  can  be,  for  the  help  of  a. 
weak  memory;  and  he  that  will  take  any  other  way  to  do  it,  especially  that  of 
ch.iiging  it  with  a  train  of  other  people's  words,  which  he  that  learns  cares  not; 

21 


322  LOCKE  ON  EDDCATION. 

for;  will,  I  guess,  scarce  find  the  profit  answer  half  the  time  and  pains  employed 
in  it. 

I  do  not  mean  hereby,  that  there  should  be  no  exercise  given  to  children's 
ueraories.  I  think  their  memories  should  be  employed,  but  not  in  learning  by 
rote  whole  pages  out  of  books,  which,  the  lesson  being  once  said,  and  that  task 
over,  are  delivered  up  again  to  oblivion,  and  neglected  forever.  This  mends 
ueither  the  memory  nor  the  mind.  What  they  should  learn  by  heart  out  of 
authors,  I  have  above  mentioned :  and  such  wise  and  useful  sentences  being 
once  given  in  charge  to  their  memories,  they  should  never  be  suffered  to  forget 
again,  but  be  often  called  to  account  for  them  :  whereby,  besides  the  use  thoso 
sajMugs  may  be  to  them  in  their  future  life,  as  so  many  good  rules  and  observa- 
tions ;  they  will  be  taught  to  reflect  often,  and  bethink  themselves  what  they 
have  to  remember,  which  is  the  only  way  to  make  the  memory  quick  and  useful. 
The  custom  of  frequent  reflection  will  keep  their  minds  from  running  adrift,  and 
call  their  thoughts  home  from  useless  inattentive  roving;  and  therefore,  I  think, 
it  may  do  well  to  give  them  something  every  day  to  remember ;  but  something 
still,  that  is  in  itself  worth  the  remembering,  and  what  you  would  never  have 
out  of  mind,  whenever  you  call,  or  they  themselves  search  for  it.  This  will 
oblige  them  often  to  turn  their  thoughts  inwards,  than  which  you  can  not  wish 
them  a  better  intellectual  habit. 


171.  But  under  whose  care  soever  a  child  is  put  to  bo  taught,  during  the 
tender  and  flexible  years  of  his  life,  this  is  certain,  it  should  be  one  who  thhiks 
Latin  and  language  the  least  part  of  education ;  one,  who  knowing  how  much 
virtue,  and  a  well-tempered  soul,  is  to  be  preferred  to  any  sort  of  learning  or 
language,  makes  it  his  cliief  business  to  form  the  mind  of  his  scholars,  and  give 
that  a  right  disposition :  which,  if  once  got,  though  all  the  rest  should  be  neg- 
lected, would,  in  due  time,  produce  all  the  rest ;  and  which  if  it  be  not  got  and 
settled,  so  as  to  keep  out  ill  and  vicious  habits,  languages  and  sciences,  and  all 
tiie  other  accomplishments  of  education,  will  be  to  no  purpose,  but  to  make  the 
worse  or  more  dangerous  man.  And  indeed,  whatever  stir  there  is  made  about 
getting  of  Latin,  as  the  great  and  difficult  business ;  his  mother  may  teach  it 
liira  herself,  if  she  will  but  spend  two  or  three  hours  in  a  day  with  him,  and 
make  him  read  the  evangelists  in  Latin  to  her :  for  slie  need  but  buy  a  Latin 
Testament,  and  having  got  somebody  to  mark  the  last  .syllable  but  one,  where 
it  is  long,  in  words  above  two  sjilables,  (which  is  enough  to  regulate  her  pro- 
nunciation, and  accenting  the  words,)  read  daily  in  the  Gospels;  and  then  let 
her  avoid  understanding  them  in  Latin,  if  she  can.  And  when  she  understands 
the  Evangelists  in  Latin,  let  her,  in  the  same  manner,  read  jEsop's  Fables,  and 
so  proceed  on  to  Eutropius,  Justin,  and  other  such  books.  I  do  not  mention 
this  as  an  imagination  of  what  I  fancy  may  do,  but  as  of  a  thing  I  have  known 
done,  and  the  Latin  tongue,  with  ease,  got  this  way. 

But  to  return  to  what  I  was  .saying:  he  that  takes  on  him  the  cliarge  of 
bringing  up  young  men,  especially  young  gentlemen,  should  have  something 
more  in  him  than  Latin,  more  than  even  a  knowledge  in  the  liberal  sciences; 
he  should  be  a  person  of  eminent  virtue  and  prudence,  and  with  good  sense 
■have  good  humor,  and  the  skill  to  carry  himself  witli  gravity,  ease,  and  kind- 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 


323 


ncss,  in  a  constant  conversation  with  his  pupils.     But  of  this  x  have  spoken  at 
large  in  another  place. 

GEOGRAPHY. 

172.  At  the  same  time  that  he  is  learning  French  and  Latin,  a  child,  as  haa 
been  said,  may  also  be  entered  in  arithmetic,  geography,  chronology,  history, 
and  geometry-  too.  For  if  these  b©  taught  liim  in  French  or  Latin,  when  he 
oegins  once  to  understand  either  of  these  tongues,  he  will  get  a  knowledge  iu 
these  sciences,  and  the  language  to  boot 

Geography,  I  think,  should  be  begun  with;  for  the  learning  of  the  figure  of 
the  globe,  the  situation  and  boundaries  of  the  four  parts  of  the  world,  and  that 
of  particular  kingdoms  and  countries,  being  only  an  exercise  of  the  eyes  and 
memory,  a  child  with  pleasure  will  learn  and  retain  them:  and  tliis  is  so  ceilain, 
that  I  now  live  in  the  house  with  a  child,  whom  his  mother  has  so  well  in- 
structed this  way  in  geography,  that  he  knew  the  limits  of  the  four  parts  of  the 
world,  could  readily  point,  Ijeing  asked,  to  any  country  upon  the  globe,  or  any 
county  in  the  map  of  England  ;  knew  all  the  great  rivers,  promontories,  straits, 
and  bays  in  the  world,  and  could  find  the  longitude  and  latitude  of  any  place, 
before  he  was  six  years  old.  These  things,  that  he  will  thus  learn  by  sight,  and 
have  by  rote  in  his  memory,  are  not  all,  I  confess,  that  he  is  to  learn  upon  the 
globes.  But  yet  it  is  a  good  step  and  preparation  to  it,  and  will  make  the  re- 
mainder much  easier,  when  his  judgment  is  grown  ripe  enough  for  it :  besides 
that,  it  gets  so  much  time  now,  and  by  the  pleasure  of  knowing  things,  leads 
him  on  insensibly  to  the  gaining  of  languages. 

173.  When  he  has  the  natural  parts  of  the  globe  well  fixed  in  his  memory,  it 
may  then  be  time  to  begin  arithmetic.  Bj^  the  natural  parts  of  the  globe,  I 
mean  several  positions  of  the  parts  of  the  earth  and  sea,  under  different  names 
and  distinctions  of  countries ;  not  coming  yet  to  those  artificial  and  imaginary 
lines,  which  have  been  invented,  and  are  only  supposed,  for  the  better  improve- 
ment of  that  science. 

ARITHMETIC. 

174.  Arithmetic  is  the  easiest,  and  consequently  the  first  sort  of  abstract  rea- 
soning, which  the  mind  commonly  bears,  or  accustoms  itself  to ;  and  is  of  so 
general  use  in  all  parts  of  life  and  business,  that  scarce  any  thing  is  to  be  done 
without  it.  This  is  certain,  a  man  can  not  have  too  much  of  it,  nor  too  per- 
fectly ;  he  should  therefore  begin  to  be  exercised  in  counting,  as  soon,  and  as 
far,  as  he  is  capable  of  it ;  and  do  something  in  it  every  day  till  he  is  master  of 
the  art  of  numbers.  When  he  understands  addition  and  subtraction,  he  may 
then  be  advanced  farther  in  geography,  and  after  he  is  acquainted  with  the 
poles,  zones,  parallel  circles,  and  meridians,  be  taught  longitude  and  latitude, 
and  by  them  be  made  to  understand  the  use  of  maps,  and  by  the  numbers 
placed  on  their  sides,  to  know  the  respective  situation  of  countries,  and  how  to 
find  tliera  out  on  the  terrestrial  globe.  Which  when  he  can  readily  do,  he  may 
then  be  entered  in  the  celestial ;  and  there  going  over  all  the  circles  again,  with 
a  more  particular  observation  of  the  ecliptic  or  zodiac,  to  fix  them  all  very 
clearly  and  distinctly  in  his  mind,  ho  may  be  taught  the  figure  and  position  of 
the  several  constellations,  which  may  be  showed  him  first  upon  the  globe,  and 
then  in  tiie  heavens. 


924  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

ASTRONOMY. 

When  that  is  done,  and  he  knows  pretty  well  the  constellations  of  this  oar 
heniLsphere,  it  may  be  time  to  give  him  some  notions  of  this  our  planetary 
world,  and  to  that  purpose  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  make  him  a  draught  of  the 
Copernican  system ;  and  therein  explain  to  him  the  situation  of  the  planets, 
their  respective  distances  from  the  sun,  the  center  of  their  revolutions.  This 
will  prepare  him  to  understand  the  motion  and  theory  of  the  planets  the  most 
easy  and  natural  way.  For,  since  astronomers  uo  longer  doubt  of  the  motion 
of  the  planets  about  the  sun,  it  is  fit  he  should  proceed  upon  that  hypothesis, 
whiih  is  not  only  the  simplest  and  least  perplexed  for  a  learner,  but  also  the 
likeliest  to  be  true  in  itself.  But  in  this,  as  in  all  other  parts  of  instruction, 
great  care  must  be  taken  with  children,  to  begin  with  that  which  is  plain  and 
simple,  and  to  teach  them  as  little  as  can  be  at  once,  and  settle  that  well  in 
their  heads,  before  you  proceed  to  the  next,  or  any  thing  new  in  that  science. 
Give  them  first  one  simple  idea,  and  see  that  they  take  it  right,  and  perfectly 
comprehend  it,  before  you  go  any  farther;  and  then  add  some  other  simple  idea, 
which  lies  next  in  your  way  to  what  you  aim  at ;  and  so  proceeding  by  gentle 
and  insensible  steps,  children,  without  confusion  and  amazement,  wUl  have  their 
understandings  opened,  and  their  thoughts  extended,  farther  than  could  have 
been  expected.  And  when  any  one  has  learned  any  thing  hhnself,  there  is  no 
such  way  to  fix  it  in  his  memory,  and  to  encourage  liim  to  go  on,  as  to  set  him 
to  teach  it  others. 


175.  "When  he  has  once  got  such  an  acquaintance  with  the  globes,  as  is  above 
mentioned,  he  may  be  fit  to  be  tried  a  little  in  geometry;  wherein  I  think  the 
six  first  books  of  Euclid  enough  for  him  to  be  taught.  For  I  am  in  some  doubt 
whether  more  to  a  man  of  business  be  necessary  or  useful ;  at  least  if  he  have 
a  genius  and  inclination  to  it,  being  entered  so  far  by  his  tutor,  he  will  be  able  to 
go  on  of  himself  without  a  teacher. 

The  globes,  therefore,  must  be  studied,  and  that  diligently,  and,  I  think,  may 
be  begun  betimes,  if  the  tutor  will  but  be  careful  to  distinguish  what  the  child 
is  capable  of  knowing,  and  what  not ;  for  which  this  may  be  a  rule,  that  per- 
haps will  go  a  pretty  way,  (viz.)  that  children  may  be  taught  any  thing  that 
falls  under  their  senses,  especially  their  sight,  as  far  as  their  memories  only  are 
exercised :  and  thus  a  child  very  young  may  learn,  A^hich  is  the  equator,  which 
the  meridian,  &c.,  which  Europe,  and  which  England,  upon  the  globes,  as  soon 
almost  as  he  knows  the  rooms  of  the  house  he  lives  in ;  if  care  be  taken  not  to 
teach  him  too  much  at  once,  nor  to  set  him  upon  a  new  part,  till  that,  which  he 
is  upon,  be  perfectly  learned  and  fixed  in  his  memory. 

CHRONOLOGY. 

176.  With  geography,  chronology  ought  to  go  hand  in  hand;  I  mean  the 
general  part  of  it,  so  that  he  may  have  in  his  mind  a  view  of  the  whole  current 
of  time,  and  the  several  considerable  epochs  that  are  made  use  of  in  history. 
Without  these  two,  history,  which  is  the  great  mistress  of  prudence  and  civil 
kr.owledge ;  and  ought  to  be  the  proper  study  of  a  gentleman  or  man  of  busi- 
ness in  the  world ;  without  geography  and  chronology,  I  say,  history  will  be 
very  ill  retained,  and  very  little  useful ;  but  be  only  a  jumble  of  matters  of  fact., 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  325 

confusedly  heaped  together  without  order  or  instruction.  It  is  by  these  two 
that  the  actions  of  mankind  are  ranked  into  their  proper  places  of  times  and 
countries  j  under  which  circumstances,  they  are  not  only  much  easier  kept  in 
the  memory,  but,  in  that  natural  order,  are  only  capable  to  aflbrd  those  observa- 
tions, which  make  a  man  the  better  and  the  abler  for  reading  them, 

177.  When  I  speak  of  chronology  as  a  science  he  should  be  perfect  in,  I  do 
not  mean  the  little  controversies  that  are  in  it.  These  are  endless,  and  most  of 
them  of  so  little  importance  to  a  gentleman,  as  not  to  deserve  to  be  inquired 
into  were  they  capable  of  an  easy  decision.  And,  therefore,  all  that  learned 
noise  and  dust  of  tlie  chrouologist  is  wholly  to  be  avoided.  The  most  useful 
book  I  have  seen  in  that  part  of  learning,  is  a  small  treatise  of  Strauchius, 
which  is  printed  in  twelves,  under  the  title  of  "Breviarium  Chronologicum,"  out 
of  which  may  be  selected  all  that  is  necessary  to  be  taught  a  young  gentleman 
concerning  chronology ;  for  aU  that  is  in  that  treatise  a  learner  need  not  be  cum- 
bered with.  He  has  in  him  the  most  remarkable  or  usual  epochs  reduced  all 
to  that  of  the  Julian  period,  which  is  the  easiest,  and  plainest,  and  surest 
method,  that  can  be  made  use  of  in  chronology.  To  this  treatise  of  Strauchius, 
Helvicus's  tables  may  be  added,  as  a  book  to  be  turned  to  on  all  occasions. 


178.  As  nothing  teaches,  so  nothing  delights,  more  than  history.  The  first 
of  these  recommends  it  to  the  study  of  grown  men ;  the  latter  makes  me  think 
it  the  fittest  for  a  young  lad,  who,  ay  soon  as  he  is  instructed  in  chronology,  and 
acquainted  with  the  several  epochs,  in  use  in  tliis  part  of  the  world,  and  can 
reduce  them  to  the  Julian  period,  should  then  have  some  Latin  history  put  into 
his  hand.  The  choice  should  be  directed  by  the  easiness  of  the  style ;  for 
wherever  he  begins,  chronology  will  keep  it  from  confusion  •  and  the  pleasant- 
ness of  the  subject  inviting  him  to  read,  the  language  wUl  insensibly  be  got, 
without  that  terrible  vexation  and  uneasiness  which  children  sufler  where  they 
are  put  into  b(ioks  beyond  their  capacity,  such  as  are  the  Roman  orators  and 
poets,  only  to  learn  the  Roman  language.  When  he  has  by  reading  mastered 
the  easier,  such  perhaps  as  Justin,  Eutropius,  Quintus  Curtius,  &c.,  the  next  de- 
gree to  these  will  give  him  no  great  trouble :  and  thus,  by  a  gradual  progress 
from  the  plainest  and  easiest  historians,  he  may  at  last  come  to  read  the  most 
difiScult  and  sublime  of  the  Latin  authors,  such  as  are  Tully,  Virgil,  and  Horace. 

ETHICS. 

179.  The  knowledge  of  virtue,  all  along  from  the  beginning,  in  all  the  m- 
stances  he  is  capable  of,  being  taught  him,  more  by  practice  than  rules ;  and 
the  love  of  reputation,  instead  of  satisfying  his  appetite,  being  made  habitual 
in  him ;  I  know  not  whether  he  should  read  any  other  discourses  of  morality, 
but  what  he  finds  in  the  Bible  ;  or  have  any  system  of  ethics  put  into  his  hand, 
till  he  can  read  Tully's  Offices,  not  as  a  school-boy  to  learn  Latin,  but  as  one 
that  would  be  informed  in  the  principles  and  precepts  of  virtue,  for  the  conduct 
of  his  life. 

CIVIL  LAW. 

180.  When  he  has  pretty  well  digested  Tully's  Offices,  and  added  to  it  "Puf- 
fendorf  de  Officio  Hominis  et  Civis,"  it  maybe  seasonable  to  set  him  upon  "Gro- 
tius  de  Jure  Belli  et  Pacis,"  or,  which  perhaps  is  the  better  of  the  two,  "Pufifen- 


32y  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

dorf  de  Jure  Naturali  et  Gentium,"  wherein  he  will  be  instructed  in  the  natural 
rights  of  men,  and  the  original  and  fouudationa  of  society,  and  the  duties  re- 
sulting from  thence.  This  general  part  of  civil  law  and  history  are  studies 
which  a  gentleman  should  not  barely  touch  at,  but  constantly  dwell  upon,  and 
never  have  done  with.  A  virtuous  and  well-behaved  young  man,  that  is  well 
versed  in  the  general  part  of  the  civil  law,  (which  concerns  not  the  chicane  of 
private  cases,  but  the  affairs  and  intercourse  of  civilized  nations  in  general, 
grounded  upon  principles  of  reason,)  understands  Latin  well,  and  can  write  a 
good  hand,  one  may  turn  loose  into  the  world,  with  great  assurance  that  he  will 
find  employment  and  esteem  everywhere. 

ENGLISH   LAW. 

181.  It  would  be  strange  to  suppose  an  English  gentleman  should  be  igno- 
rant of  the  law  of  his  country.  This,  whatever  station  he  is  in,  is  so  requisite, 
that,  from  a  justice  of  the  peace  to  a  minister  of  state,  I  know  no  place  he  can 
well  fill  without  it.  I  do  not  mean  the  chicane  or  wrangling  and  captious  part 
of  the  law ;  a  gentleman  whose  business  is  to  seek  the  true  measures  of  right 
and  wrong,  and  not  the  arts  how  to  avoid  doing  the  one,  and  secure  himself  in 
doing  the  other,  ought  to  be  as  far  from  such  a  study  of  the  law,  as  he  is  con- 
cerned diligently  to  apply  himself  to  that  wherein  he  may  be  serviceable  to  his 
country.  And  to  that  purpose  I  think  the  right  way  for  a  gentleman  to  study 
our  law,  which  he  does  not  design  for  his  calling,  is  to  take  a  view  of  our  Eng- 
lish constitution  and  government,  in  the  arfbient  books  of  the  common  law,  and 
some  more  modern  writers,  who  out  of  them  have  given  an  account  of  this  gov- 
ernment. And  having  got  a  true  idea  of  that,  then  to  read  our  history,  and 
with  it  join  in  every  king's  reign  the  laws  then  made.  This  will  give  an  in- 
sight into  the  reason  of  our  statutes,  and  show  the  true  ground  upon  which 
they  came  to  be  made,  and  what  weight  they  ought  to  have. 

RHETORIC.      LOGIC. 

182.  Rhetoric  and  logic  being  the  arts  that  in  the  ordinary  method  usually 
follow  immediately  after  grammar,  it  may  perhaps  be  wondered  that  I  have 
said  so  little  of  them.  The  reason  is,  because  of  the  little  advantage  young 
people  receive  by  them  ;  for  I  have  seldom  or  never  observed  any  one  to  get 
the  skill  of  reasoning  well,  or  speaking  handsomely,  by  studying  those  rules 
which  pretend  to  teach  it;  and  therefore  I  would  have  a  young  gentleman  take 
a  view  of  them  in  the  shortest  systems  could  be  found,  without  dwelling  long 
on  the  contemplation  and  study  of  those  formalities.  Riglit  reasoning  is  founded 
on  something  else  than  the  predicaments  and  predicables,  and  does  not  consist 
in  talking  in  mode  and  figure  itself.  But  it  is  besides  my  present  business  to 
enlarge  upon  this  speculation.  To  come  therefore  to  what  we  have  in  hand ; 
if  you  would  have  your  son  reason  well,  let  him  read  Chillingworth ;  and  if  you 
would  have  him  speak  well,  let  him  be  conversant  in  Tully,  to  give  him  the  true 
idea  of  eloquence ;  and  let  him  read  those  things  that  are  well  writ  in  English, 
to  perfect  his  style  in  the  purity  of  our  language. 

183.  If  the  use  and  end  of  right  reasoning  be  to  have  right  notions,  and  a 
right  judgment  of  things  ;  to  distinguish  betwixt  truth  and  falsehood,  right  and 
wrong,  and  to  act  accordingly  ;  be  sure  not  to  let  your  son  be  bred  up  in  the 
art  and  formality  of  disputing,  either  practicing  it  himself,  or  admiring  it  in 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  32', 

others ;  unless,  instead  of  an  able  man,  you  desire  to  have  him  an  insignificant 
wrangler,  opiniatre  in  discourse,  and  priding  himself  in  contradicting  others ; 
or,  which  is  worse,  questioning  every  thing,  and  tliinking  there  is  no  such  thing 
as  truth  to  be  sought,  but  onlj-^  victory,  in  disputing.  There  can  not  be  any 
thing  so  disingenuous,  so  misbecoming  a  gentleman,  or  any  one  who  pretends 
to  be  a  rational  creature,  as  not  to  yield  to  plain  reason,  and  the  conviction  of 
clear  arguments.  Is  there  any  thing  more  inconsistent  with  civil  conversation, 
and  the  end  of  all  debate,  than  not  to  take  an  answer,  though  ever  so  full  and 
satisfactory ;  but  still  to  go  on  with  the  dispute,  as  long  as  equivocal  sounds  can 
furnish  [a  "medius  terminus'']  a  term  to  wranglg  with  on  the  one  side,  or  a  dis- 
tinction on  the  other  ?  Whetlier  pertinent  or  impertinent,  sense  or  nonsense, 
agreeing  with,  or  contrary  to,  what  he  had  said  before,  it  matters  not.  For 
this,  in  short,  is  the  way  and  perfection  of  logical  disputes,  that  the  opponent 
never  takes  any  answer,  nor  the  respondent  ever  yields  to  any  argument.  This 
neither  of  them  must  do,  whatever  becomes  of  truth  or  knowledge,  unless  he 
will  pass  for  a  poor  baffled  wretch,  and  lie  under  the  disgrace  of  not  being  able 
to  maintain  whatever  he  has  once  afBrmed.  which  is  the  great  aim  and  glory  in 
disputing.  Truth  is  to  be  found  and  supported  by  a  mature  and  due  considera- 
tion of  tilings  themselves,  and  not  by  artificial  terms  and  ways  of  arguing : 
thf'se  lead  not  men  so  much  into  the  discovery  of  truth,  as  into  a  captious  and 
fallacious  use  of  doubtful  words,  which  is  tlie  most  useless  and  most  offensive 
way  of  talking,  and  such  as  least  suits  a  gentleman  or  a  lover  of  truth  of  any 
thing  in  the  world. 

There  can  scarce  be  a  greater  defect  in  a  gentleman,  than  not  to  express  him- 
self well,  either  in  writing  or  speaking.  But  yet,  I  think,  I  may  ask  my  reader, 
whetlier  he  doth  not  know  a  great  many,  who  live  upon  their  estates,  and  so, 
with  tlie  name,  should  liave  the  qualities  of  gentlemen,  who  can  not  so  much 
as  Tell  a  story  as  they  should,  much  less  speak  clearly  and  persuasivelj''  in  any 
business?  This  I  think  not  to  be  so  much  their  fiiult,  as  the  fault  of  their  edu- 
cation ;  for  I  must,  without  partiality,  do  my  countrymen  this  right,  that  where 
they  apply  themselves,  I  see  none  of  their  neighbors  outgo  them.  They  have 
been  taught  rhetoric,  but  yet  never  taught  how  to  express  themselves  hand- 
somely with  their  tongues,  or  pens,  in  the  language  they  are  always  to  use ; 
as  if  the  names  of  the  figures,  that  embellished  the  discourses  of  those  who  un- 
derstood the  art  of  speaking,  were  the  very  art  and  skill  of  speaking  well. 
This,  as  all  other  things  of  practice,  is  to  be  learned  not  by  a  few  or  a  great 
manj'  rules  given,  but  by  exercise  and  application,  according  to  good  rules,  or ' 
rather  patterns,  till  habits  are  got,  and  a  facility  of  doing  it  we'l. 


Agreeable  hereunto,  perhaps  it  might  not  be  amiss  to  make  children,  as  soon 
as  they  are  capable  of  it,  often  to  tell  a  story  of  any  thing  tliey  know ;  and  to 
correct  at  first  the  most  remarkable  foult  they  are  guilty  ofj  in  their  way  of  put- 
ting it  together.  When  that  fault  is  cured,  then  to  show  them  the  next,  and 
Ro  on,  till,  one  after  another,  all,  at  least  the  gro.ss  ones,  are  mended.  When 
they  fan  tell  tales  pretty  well,  then  it  may  be  time  to  make  them  write  tliom. 
The  fables  of  jEsop,  the  only  book  almost  that  I  know  fit  for  children,  may 
afford  them  matter  for  this  exercise  of  writing  English,  as  well  as  for  reading 
and  translating,  to  enter  them  in  thfe  Latin  tongue.     When  they  are  got  past 


328  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

the  faults  of  grammar,  and  cau  join  in  a  continued  coherent  discourse  of  the 
several  parts  of  a  story,  without  bald  and  unhandsome  forms  of  transition  (as  is 
usual,)  often  repeated ;  he  that  desires  to  perfect  them  yet  farther  in  this,  which 
is  the  first  step  to  speaking  well,  and  needs  no  invention,  may  have  recourse  to 
TuUy ;  and  by  putting  in  practice  those  rules,  which  tliat  master  of  eloquence 
gives  in  his  first  book  "  De  luventione,"  §  20,  make  them  know  wherein  the 
skill  and  graces  of  a  handsome  narrative,  according  to  the  several  subjects  and 
designs  of  it,  lie.  Of  each  of  which  rules  fit  examples  may  be  found  out,  and 
therein  they  may  be  shown  how  others  have  practiced  them.  The  ancient  clas- 
sic authors  afibrd  plenty  of  svlch  examples,  which  they  should  be  made  not 
only  to  translate,  but  have  set  before  them  as  patterns  for  their  daily  imitation. 

LETTERS. 

When  they  understand  how  to  write  English  with  due  connection,  propriety, 
and  order,  and  are  pretty  well  masters  of  a  tolerable  narrative  style,  they  may 
be  advanced  to  writing  of  letters ;  wherein  they  should  not  be  put  upon  any 
strains  of  wit  or  compliment,  but  taught  to  express  their  own  plain  easy  sense, 
without  any  incoherence,  confusion,  or  roughness.  And  when  they  are  perfect 
in  this,  they  may,  to  raise  their  thoughts,  have  set  before  them  the  example  of 
Yoiture's,  for  the  entertainment  of  their  friends  at  a  distance,  with  letters  of 
compliment,  mirth,  raillery,  or  diversion ;  and  Tully's  epistles,  as  the  best  pat- 
tern, whether  for  business  or  conversation.  The  writing  of  letters  has  so  much 
to  do  in  all  the  occurrences  of  human  life,  that  no  gentleman  can  avoid  showing 
himself  in  this  kind  of  writing :  occasions  will  daily  force  him  to  make  this  use 
of  his  pen,  which,  besides  the  consequences,  that,  in  his  affairs,  his  well  or  ill 
managing  of  it  often  draws  after  it,  always  lays  him  open  to  a  severer  examina- 
tion of  his  breeding,  sense,  and  abilities,  than  oral  discourses ;  whose  transient 
faults,  dying  for  the  most  part  with  the  sound  that  gives  them  life,  and  so  not 
subject  to  a  strict  review,  more  easily  escape  observation  and  censure. 


Had  the  methods  of  education  been  directed  to  their  right  end,  one  would 
have  thought  this  so  necessary  a  part,  could  not  have  been  neglected,  whilst 
themes  and  verses  in  Latin,  of  no  use  at  all,  were,  so  constantly  every  where 
pressed,  to  the  rackmg  of  children's  inventions  beyond  their  strength,  and  hin- 
dering their  cheerful  progress  in  learning  the  tongues,  by  unnatural  difficulties. 
But  custom  has  so  ordained  it,  and  who  dares  disobey  ?  And  would  it  not  be 
very  unreasonable  to  require  of  a  learned  country  schoolmaster  (who  has  all  the 
tropes  and  figures  in  Farnaby's  rhetoric  at  his  fingers'  ends,)  to  teach  his  scholar 
to  express  himself  handsomely  in  English,  when  it  appears  to  be  so  little  his 
business  or  thought,  that  the  boy's  mother  (despised,  it  is  like,  as  illiterate,  for 
not  having  read  a  system  of  logic  and  rhetoric,)  outdoes  him  in  it? 

To  write  and  speak  correctly,  gives  a  grace,  and  gains  a  favorable  attention 
to  what  one  has  to  say;  and,  since  it  is  English  that  an  English  gentleman  will 
have  constant  use  of,  that  is  the  language  ho  should  chiefly  cultivate,  and 
wherein  most  care  should  be  taken  to  polish  and  perfect  his  style.  To  speak 
or  write  better  Latin  than  English,  may  make  a  man  be  talked  of;  but  he  would 
find  it  more  to  his  purpose  to  express  hipiself  well  in  his  own  tongue,  that  he 
uses  every  moment,  than  to  have  the  vain  commendation  of  others  for  a  very 


LOCKE  OX  EDUCATION. 


329 


insignificant  quality.  This  I  find  universally  neglected,  and  no  care  taken  any 
where  to  improve  young  men  in  their  own  language,  that  they  may  tborouglily 
understand  and  be  masters  of  it.  If  any  one  among  us  have  a  facility  or  pu- 
rity more  tlian  ordinary  in  his  mother  tongue,  it  is  owing  to  chance,  or  his 
genius,  or  any  thing,  ratlier  than  to  his  education,  or  any  care  of  his  teacher. 
To  mind  what  English  his  pupil  spealcs  or  writes,  is  below  the  dignity  of  one 
bred  up  amongst  Greek  and  Latin,  though  he  have  but  little  of  them  himself. 
Thes"  are  the  learned  languages,  fit  only  for  learned  men  to  meddle  with  and 
teach ;  Enghsli  is  the  language  of  the  illiterate  vulgar ;  though  yet  we  see  the 
policj''  of  some  of  our  neighbors  hath  not  thought  it  beneatli  the  public  care  to 
promote  and  reward  the  improvement  of  their  own  language.  Polishing  and 
enriching  tli'nr  tongue,  is  no  small  business  amongst  them;  it  hath  colleges  and 
stipends  appointed  it,  and  there  is  raised  amongst  them  a  great  ambition  and 
emulation  of  writing  correctly  ;  and  we  see  what  tliey  are  come  to  by  it,  and 
how  far  they  have  spread  one  of  the  worst  languages,  possibly  in  this  part  of 
the  world,  if  we  look  upon  it  as  it  was  in  some  few  reigns  backwards,  whatever 
it  be  now.  The  great  men  amongst  the  Eomans  were  daily  exercising  tliem- 
selves  in  their  own  language ;  and  we  find  yet  upon  record  the  names  of  ora- 
tors, who  taught  some  of  their  emperors  Latin,  tliough  it  were  their  mother 
tongue. 

It  is  plain  the  Greeks  were  yet  more  nice  in  theirs  ;  all  other  speech  was  bar- 
barous to  them  but  their  own,  and  no  foreign  language  appears  to  have  been 
studied  or  valued  amongst  that  learned  and  acute  people ;  though  it  be  past 
doubt,  that  they  borrowed  their  learning  and  philosophy  from  abroad. 

I  am  not  here  sj^eakiug  against  Greek  and  Latin  ;  I  think  they  ought  to  be 
studied ;  and  the  Latin,  at  least,  understood  well,  by  every  gentleman.  But 
whatever  foreign  languages  a  young  man  meddles  with,  (and  the  more  he  knows, 
the  better,)  that  which  he  should  critically  study,  and  labor  to  get  a  facility, 
clearness,  and  elegancy  to  express  himself  in,  should  be  his  own,  and  to  this 
purpose  he  should  daily  be  exercised  in  it. 

NATURAL   PHILOSOPHY. 

184.  Natural  philosophy,  as  a  speculative  science,  I  imagine,  we  have  none; 
and  perhaps  I  may  think  I  have  reason  to  say,  we  never  shall  be  able  to  make 
a  science  of  it.  The  works  of  nature  are  contrived  by  a  wisdom,  and  operate 
by  ways,  too  far  surpassing  our  faculties  to  discover,  or  capacities  to  conceive, 
for  us  ever  to  be  able  to  reduce  them  into  a  science.  Natural  philosophy  being 
the  knowledge  of  the  principles,  properties,  and  operations  of  things,  as  they 
are  in  themselves,  I  imagine  there  are  two  parts  of  it,  one  comprehending 
spirits,  with  their  nature  and  qualities ;  and  the  other,  bodies.  The  first  of 
these  is  usually  referred  to  metaphysics ;  but  under  what  title  soever  the  con- 
sideration of  spirits  comes,  I  think  it  ought  to  go  before  the  study  of  matter 
and  body,  not  as  a  science  that  can  be  methodized  into  a  system,  and  treated 
of,  upon  principles  of  knowledge ;  but  as  an  enlargement  of  our  minds  towards 
a  truer  and  fuller  comprehension  of  the  intellectual  world,  to  which  we  are  led 
both  by  reason  and  revelation.  And  since  the  clearest  and  largest  discoveries 
we  have  of  other  spirits,  besides  God  and  our  own  souls,  is  imparted  to  us  from 
heaven  -by  revelation,  I  think  the  information,  that  at  least  young  people  sliould 
have  of  tliem,  should  be  taken  from  that  revelation.     To  this  purpose,  I  con- 


330  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

elude,  it  would  be  well,  if  there  were  made  a  good  history  of  the  Bible  for 
youug  people  to  read ;  wherein  if  every  thing  that  is  fit  to  be  put  into  it,  were 
laid  down  in  its  due  order  of  time,  and  several  things  omitted,  which  are  suited 
only  to  riper  age  ;  that  confusion,  which  is  usually  produced  by  promiscuous 
reading  of  the  Scripture,  as  it  lies  now  bound  up  in  our  Bibles,  would  be 
avoided;  and  also  this  other  good  obtained,  that  by  reading  of  it  constantly, 
thei'e  would  bo  instilled  into  tlie  minds  of  children  a  notion  and  belief  of  spirits, 
they  having  so  much  to  do,  in  all  the  transactions  of  that  history,  which  will 
bo  a  good  preparation  to  the  study  of  bodies.  For,  without  the  notion  and  al- 
lowance of  spirit,  our  philosophy  will  be  lame  and  defective  in  one  main  part 
of  it,  when  it  leaves  out  the  contemplation  of  the  most  excellent  and  powerful 
pait  of  the  creation. 

185.  Of  this  history  of  the  Bible,  I  think  too  it  would  be  well,  if  there  were 
a  short  and  plain  epitome  made,  containing  the  chief  and  most  material  heads 
for  children  to  be  conversant  in,  as  soon  as  they  can  read.  Tliis,  though  it  will 
lead  them  early  into  some  notion  of  spirits,  yet  is  not  contrary  to  what  I  said 
above,  that  I  would  not  have  children  troubled,  whilst  j'oung,  with  notions  of 
spirits;  whereby  my  meaning  was,  that  I  think  it  inconvenient,  that  their  yet 
tender  minds  should  receive  early  impressions  of  goblins,  specters,  and  appari- 
tions, wlierewith  their  maids,  and  those  about  them,  are  apt  to  fright  them  into 
a  compliance  of  their  orders,  which  often  proves  a  great  inconvenience  to  them 
all  their  lives  after,  bj"^  subjecting  their  minds  to  frights,  fearful  apprehensions, 
weaknes.s,  and  superstition;  which,  when  coming  abroad  into  the  world  and 
conversation,  they  grow  weary  and  ashamed  of;  it  not  seldom  happens,  that  to 
make,  as  they  think,  a  thorough  cure,  and  ease  themselves  of  a  load,  which  has 
sat  so  heavy  on  them,  they  throw  away  the  thoughts  of  all  spirits  together,  and 
60  run  into  the" other,  but  worse  extreme. 

186.  The  reason  why  I  would  have  this  premised  to  the  study  of  bodies, 
and  the  doctrine  of  the  Scriptures  well  imbibed,  before  young  men  be  entered 
in  natural  philosophy,  is,  because  matter  being  a  thing  that  all  our  senses  are 
constantly  conversant  with,  it  is  so  apt  to  possess  the  mind,  and  exclude  all 
other  beings,  but  matter,  that  prejudice,  grounded  on  such  principles,  often 
leaves  no  room  for  the  admittance  of  spirits,  or  the  allowing  of  any  such  things 
as  immaterial  beings  "in  rerum  natura;  "  when  yet  it  is  evident,  that  by  mere 
matter  and  motion  none  of  the  great  phenomena  of  nature  can  be  resolved  : 
to  instance  but  in  that  common  one  of  gravity,  which  I  think  impossible  to  be 
explained  by  any  natural  operation  of  matter,  or  any  other  law  of  motion  but 
the  positive  will  of  a  superior  Being  so  ordering  it.  And,  therefore,  since  the 
deluge  can  not  be  well  explained  without  admitting  something  out  of  the  ordi- 
nary course  of  nature,  I  propose  it  to  be  considered  whether  God's  altering 
the  center  of  gravity  in  the  earth  for  a  time,  (a  thing  as  intelligible  as  gravity 
itself,  which  perhaps  a  little  variation  of  causes,  unknown  to  us,  would  pro- 
duce,) will  not  more  easily  account  for  Noah's  flood,  than  any  hypothesis  yet 
made  use  of  to  solve  it.  I  hear  the  great  objection  to  this  is,  that  it  would 
produce  but  a  partial  deluge.  But  the  alteration  of  the  center  of  gravity  once 
allowed,  it  is  no  hard  matter  to  conceive,  that  the  divine  power  might  make  the 
center  of  gravity  placed  at  a  due  distance  from  the  center  of  the  earth,  move 
round  it  in  a  convenient  space  of  time ;  whereby  the  flood  would  become  uni- 
versal, and,  as  I  think,  answer  all  the  phenomena  of  the  deluge  as  delivered  by 
Moses,  at  an  easier  rate  than  tliose  many  hard  suppositions  that  are  made  use 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  33 1 

of  to  explain  it.  But  this  is  not  a  place  for  that  argument,  which  is  here  only 
meutioned  by  the  by,  to  show  the  necessity  of  having  recourse  to  something 
beyond  bare  matter  and  its  motion,  in  the  explication  of  nature;  to  which  the 
notions  of  spirits  and  their  power,  as  delivered  in  the  Bible,  where  so  much  is 
attributed  to  their  operation,  may  be  a  fit  preparative,  reserving  to  a  fitter 
opportunity,  a  fuller  explication  of  this  hypothesis,  and  the  application  of  it  to 
all  the  parts  of  the  deluge,  and  any  difficulties  that  can  be  supposed  in  the 
h'story  of  the  flood,  as  recorded  in  the  Scripture. 

187.  But  to  return  to  the  study  of  natural  philosophy,  though  the  world  be 
full  of  systems  of  it,  yet  I  can  not  say,  I  know  any  one  which  can  be  taught  a 
young  man  as  a  science,  wherein  he  may  be  sure  to  find  truth  and  certainty, 
which  is,  what  all  sciences  give  an  expectation  of  I  do  not  hence  conclude 
that  none  of  them  are  to  be  read :  it  is  necessary  for  a  gentleman  in  this  learned 
age  to  look  into  some  of  them,  to  fit  himself  for  conversation.  But  whether 
that  of  Des  Cartes  be  put  into  his  hands,  as  that  which  is  the  most  in  fashion,  or 
it  be  thought  fit  to  give  him  a  short  view  of  that  and  several  others  also ;  I 
think  the  systems  of  natural  philosophy,  that  have  obtained  in  this  part  of  the 
world,  are  to  be  read  more  to  know  the  hypotheses,  and  to  understand  the  terms 
and  ways  of  talking  of  the  several  sects,  than  with  hopes  to  gain  thereby  a 
comprehensive,  scientifical,  and  satisfactory  knowledge  of  the  works  of  nature : 
only  this  maybe  said,  that  the  modern  corpuscularians  talk,  in  most  things 
more  intelligibly  than  the  peripatetics,  who  possessed  the  schools  immediately 
before  them.  He  that  would  look  farther  back,  and  acquaint  himself  with  the 
several  opinions  of  the  ancients,  may  consult  Dr.  Cudworth's  Intellectual  Sys- 
tem ;  wherein  that  very  learned  author  hath  with  such  accurateness  and  judg- 
ment collected  and  explained  the  opinions  of  the  Greek  philosophers,  that  what 
principles  they  built  on,  and  what  were  the  chief  hypotheses  that  divided  them, 
is  better  to  be  seen  in  him  than  any  where  else  that  I  know.  But  I  would  not 
deter  any  one  from  the  study  of  nature,  because  all  the  knowledge  we  have,  or 
possibly  can  have  of  it,  can  not  be  brought  into  a  science.  There  are  very  many 
things  in  it  that  are  convenient  and  necessary  to  be  known  to  a  gentleman  ;  and 
a  great  many  other,  that  will  abundantly  reward  the  pains  of  the  curious  with 
delight  and  advantage.  But  these  I  think  are  rather  to  be  found  amongst  such 
writers,  as  have  employed  themselves  in  making  rational  experiments  and  ob- 
servations, than  in  starting  barely  speculative  systems.  Such  writings,  there- 
fore, as  many  of  Mr.  Boyle's  are,  with  others,  that  have  writ  of  husbandry, 
planting,  gardening,  and  the  like,  may  be  fit  for  a  gentleman,  when  he  has  a 
little  acquainted  himself  with  some  of  the  systems  of  natural  philosophy  in 
fashion. 

188.  Though  the  systems  of  physics,  that  I  have  met  with,  afford  little  en- 
couragement to  look  for  certainty  or  science  in  any  treatise,  which  shall  pretend 
to  give  us  a  body  of  natural  philosophy  from  the  first  principles  of  bodies  in 
general,  yet  the  incomparable  Mr.  Newton,  has  shown  how  far  mathematics, 
applied  to  some  parts  of  nature,  may,  upon  principles  that  matter  of  fact  justify, 
carry  us  in  the  knowledge  of  some,  as  I  may  so  call  them,  particular  provinces 
of  the  incomprehensible  universe.  And  if  others  could  give  us  so  good  and 
clear  an  account  of  other  parts  of  nature,  as  he  has  of  this  our  planetary  world, 
and  the  most  considerable  phenomena  observable  in  it,  in  his  admirable  book 
"  Philosophije  naturalis  Principia  mathematica,"  we  might  in  time  hope  to  be 
furnished  with  more  true  and  certain  knowledge  in  several  parts  of  this  stupen- 


332  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

dious  macnine,  than  hitherto  we  could  have  expected.  And  though  there  are 
very  few  that  have  mathematics  enough  to  understand  his  demonstrations,  yet 
the  most  accurate  mathematicians,  who  have  examined  them,  allowing  tliem  to 
be  such,  his  book  will  deserve  to  be  read,  and  give  no  small  light  and  pleasure 
to  those,  who,  willing  to  understand  the  motions,  properties,  and  operations  of 
the  great  masses  of  matter,  in  this  our  solar  system,  will  but  carefully  mind  his 
conclusions,  which  may  be  depended  on  as  propo.~itions  well  proved. 

GREEK. 

189.  This  is,  in  short,  what  I  have  thought  concerning  a  young  gentleman's 
studies;  wherein  it  will  possibly  be  wondered,  that  I  should  omit  Greek,  since 
amongst  the  Grecians  is  to  be  found  the  original,  as  it  were,  and  foundation  of 
of  all  that  learning,  which  we  have  in  this  part  of  the  world.  I  grant  it  so ; 
and  will  add,  that  no  man  can  pa?s  for  a  scholar,  that  is  ignorant  of  tlie  Greek 
tongue.  But  I  am  not  here  considering  the  education  of  a  professed  scholar, 
but  of  a  gentleman,  to  whom  Latin  and  French,  as  the  world  now  goes,  is  by 
every  one  acknowledged  to  be  necessary.  When  he  comes  to  be  a  man,  if  he 
has  a  mind  to  carry  his  studies  farther,  and  look  into  the  Greek  learning,  he 
will  then  easily  get  that  tongue  himself:  and  if  he  has  not  that  inclination,  his 
learning  of  it  under  a  tutor,  will  be  but  lost  labor,  and  much  of  his  time  and 
pains  spent  in  that  which  will  be  neglected  and  thrown  away,  as  soon  as  he  is 
at  liberty.  For  how  many  are  there  of  an  hundred,  even  amongst  scholars 
them.-elves,  who  retain  the  Greek  they  carried  from  school ;  or  ever  improve  it 
to  a  familiar  reading,  and  perfect  understanding  of  Greek  authors? 

To  conclude  this  part,  which  concerns  a  young  gentleman's  studies,  his  tutor 
should  remember,  that  his  business  is  not  so  much  to  teach  him  all  that  is 
kuowable,  as  to  raise  in  him  a  love  and  esteem  of  knowledge;  and  to  put  him 
in  the  r'ght  way  of  knowing  and  improving  himself,  when  he  has  a  mind  to  it. 

The  thoughts  of  a  judicious  author  on  the  subject  of  languages,  I  shall  her6 
give  the  reader,  as  near  as  I  can,  in  his  own  way  of  expressing  them.  He  says 
*  "  One  can  scarce  burden  children  too  much  with  the  knowledge  of  languages. 
Tliey  are  useful  to  men  of  all  conditions,  and  they  equally  open  them  the  en- 
trance, either  to  the  most  profcjund,  or  the  more  easy  and  entertaining  parts  of 
learning.  If  this  irksome  study  be  put  off  to  a  little  more  advanced  age,  young 
men  either  have  not  resolution  enough  to  apply  to  it  out  of  choice,  or  steadiness 
to  carrj'  it  on.  And  if  any  one  has  the  gift  of  perseverance,  it  is  not  without 
the  inconvenience  of  spending  that  time  upon  languages,  which  is  destined  to 
other  uses :  and  he  confines  to  the  study  of  words  that  age  of  his  life  that  is 
above  it,  and  requires  things ;  at  least,  it  is  the  losing  the  best  and  beautifulest 
season  of  one's  life.  This  large  foundation  of  languages  can  not  be  well  laid, 
but  when  every  thing  makes  an  easy  and  deep  impression  on  the  mind;  when 
the  memory  is  fresh,  ready  and  tenacious ;  when  the  head  and  heart  are  as  yet 
free  from  cares,  passions,  and  designs ;  and  those,  on  whom  the  child  depends, 
have  authority  enough  to  keep  him  close  to  a  long-continued  application.  I  am 
persuaded,  that  the  small  number  of  truly  learned,  and  the  multitude  of  super- 
ficial pretenders,  is  owing  to  the  neglect  of  this." 

I  think  every  body  will  agree  with  this  ob.serving  gentleman,  that  languages 
are  the  proper  study  of  our  first  years.     But  this  is  to  be  oonsidered  by  the 

*  La  Bruyere  Mteurs  de  ce  Siecle,  p.  577,  662. 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  333 

parents  and  tutors,  what  tongue  it  is  fit  the  child  should  learn.  For  it  must  be 
confessed,  that  it  is  fruitless  pains,  and  loss  of  time,  to  learn  a  languag-e,  which, 
in  the  course  of  life  that  he  is  designed  to,  he  is  never  like  to  make  use  of;  or 
which  one  may  guess  by  his  temper,  he  will  wholly  neglect  and  lose  again,  as 
soon  as  an  approach  to  manhood,  setting  him  free  from  a  governor,  shall  put 
him  into  the  hands  of  his  own  inclination  ;  which  is  not  likely  to  allot  any  of 
his  time  to  the  cultivating  the  learned  tongues;  or  dispose  him  to  mind  any 
other  language,  but  what  daily  use,  or  some  particular  necessity,  shall  force 
upon  him. 

But  yet,  for  the  sake  of  those  who  are  designed  to  be  scholars,  I  will  add 
what  the  same  author  subjoins,  to  make  good  his  foregoing  remark.  It  will 
deserve  to  be  considered  by  all  who  desire  to  be  truly  learned,  and,  therefore, 
may  be  a  fit  rule  for  tutors  to  inculcate,  and  leave  with  their  pupils,  to  guide 
their  future  studies : 

"  The  study,"  saj's  he,  "  of  the  original  test  can  never  be  sufficiently  recom- 
mended. It  is  the  shortest,  surest,  and  most  agreeable  way  to  all  sorts  of 
learning.  Draw  from  the  spring-head,  and  take  not  things  at  second-hand.  Let 
the  writings  of  the  great  masters  be  never  laid  aside  ;  dwell  upon  them,  settle 
them  in  your  mind,  and  cite  them  upon  occasion ;  make  it  your  business  thor- 
oughly to  understand  them  in  their  full  extent,  and  all  their  circumstances: 
acquaint  yourself  fully  with  the  principles  of  original  authors ;  bring  them  to  a 
consistency,  and  then  do  you  yourself  make  your  deductions.  In  this  state 
were  the  first  commentators,  and  do  not  you  rest  till  j^ou  bring  yourself  to  the 
same.  Content  not  ^urself  with  those  borrowed  lights,  nor  guide  yourself  by 
their  views,  but  where  your  own  fails  you,  and  leaves  you  in  the  dark.  Their 
explications  are  not  yours,  and  will  give  you  the  slip.  On  the  contrary,  your 
own  observations  are  the  product  of  your  own  mind,  where  they  will  abide, 
and  be  ready  at  hand  upon  all  occasions  in  converse,  consultation,  and  dispute. 
Lose  not  the  pleasure  it  is  to  see  that  you  were  not  stopped  in  your  reading, 
but  by  difficulties  that  are  invincible ;  where  the  commentators  and  scholiasts 
themselves  are  at  a  stand,  and  have  nothing  to  say;  those  copious  expositors 
of  other  places,  who,  with  a  vain  and  pompous  overflow  of  learning,  poured  out 
on  passages  plain  and  easy  in  themselves,  are  very  free  of  their  words  and 
pains  where  there  is  no  need.  Convince  yourself  fully  by  thus  ordering  your 
studies,  that  it  is  nothing  but  men's  laziness,  which  hath  encouraged  pedantry 
to  cram  rather  than  enrich  libraries,  and  to  bury  good  authors  under  heaps  of 
notes  and  commentaries ;  and  you  will  perceive,  that  sloth  herein  hath  acted 
against  itself,  and  its  own  interest,  bj^  multiplying  reading  and  inquiries,  and 
increasing  the  pains  it  endeavored  to  avoid," 

This,  though  it  may  seem  to  concern  none  but  direct  scholars,  is  of  so  great 
moment  for  the  right  ordering  of  their  education  and  studies,  that  I  hope  I  shall 
not  be  blamed  for  inserting  of  it  here,  especially  if  it  be  considered,  that  it  may 
be  of  use  to  gentlemen  too,  when  at  any  time  they  have  a  mind  to  go  deeper 
than  the  surface,  and  get  to  themselves  a  solid,  satisfactory,  and  masterly  insight 
in  any  part  of  learning. 

METHOD. 

Order  and  constancy  are  said  to  make  the  great  difference  between  one  man 
and  another :  This,  I  am  sure,  nothing  so  much  clears  a  learner's  way,  helps 
him  so  much  on  in  it,  and  makes  him  go  so  easy  and  so  far  in  any  inquiry,  as  a 


334  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

good  method.  His  governor  should  take  pains  to  make  him  sensible  of  thia 
accustom  Jiim  to  order  and  teach  him  method  in  all  the  applications  of  his 
thoughts;  show  him  wherein  it  lies,  and  the  advantage.s  of  it;  acquaint  him 
with  the  several  sorts  of  it,  either  from  general  to  particulars,  or  from  particu- 
lars to  what  is  more  general ;  exercise  him  in  both  of  them ;  and  make  him 
see,  in  what  case  each  different  method  is  most  proper,  and  to  what  ends  it 
best  serves. 

In  history  the  order  of  time  should  govern ;  in  philosophical  inquiries  that  of 
nature,  which  in  all  progre^^sion  is  to  go  from  the  place  one  is  then  in,  to  that 
which  joins  and  lies  next  to  it;  and  so  it  is  in  the  mind,  from  the  knowledge  it 
stands  possessed  of  already,  to  that  which  lies  next,  and  is  coherent  to  it,  and 
so  on  to  what  it  aims  at,  by  the  simplest  and  most  uncompounded  parts  it  can 
divide  the  matter  into.  To  this  purpose,  it  will  bo  of  great  use  to  his  pupil  to 
accustom  him  to  distinguish  well,  that  is,  to  have  distinct  notions,  where 
ever  the  mind  can  find  any  real  difference,  but  as  carefully  to  avoid  distinction 
in  terms,  where  he  has  not  distinct  and  different  clear  ideas. 

190.  Besides  what  is  to  be  had  from  study  and  books,  there  are  other  accom- 
plishments necessary  for  a  gentleman,  to  be  got  by  exercise,  and  to  whicli  time 
is  to  be  allowed,  and  for  which  masters  must  be  had. 


Dancing  being  that  which  gives  graceful  motions  all  the  life,  and  above  all 
tilings  manliness,  and  a  becoming  confidence  to  young  children,  I  think  it  can 
not  be  learned  too  early,  after  they  are  once  of  an  age  ;yiid  strength  capable  of 
it.  But  you  must  be  sure  to  have  a  good  master,  that  knows,  and  can  teach, 
what  is  graceful  and  becoming,  and  what  gives  a  freedom  and  easiness  to  all 
the  motions  of  the  body.  One  that  teaches  not  this,  is  worse  than  none  at  all, 
natural  unfoshionableness  being  much  better  than  apish,  affected  postures ;  and 
I  think  it  much  more  passable  to  put  off  the  hat,  and  make  a  leg,  like  an  honest 
country -gentleman,  than  like  an  ill-fashioned  dancing-master.  For,  as  for  the 
jigging  part,  and  the  figures  of  dances,  I  count  that  little,  or  nothing,  farthei 
than  as  it  tends  to  perfect  graceful  carriage. 

MUSIC. 
191.  Music  is  thought  to  have  some  affinity  with  dancing,  and  a  good  hand, 
upon  some  instruments,  is  by  many  people  mightily  valued.  But  it  wastes  so 
much  of  a  young  man's  time,  to  gain  but  a  moderate  skill  in  it,  and  engages 
often  in  such  odd  company,  that  many  think  it  much  better  spared :  and  I  have 
amongst  men  of  parts  and  business,  so  seldom  heard  any  one  commended,  or 
esteemed,  for  having  an  excellency  in  music,  that  amongst  all  those  things,  that 
ever  came  into  the  list  of  accomplishments,  I  think  I  may  give  it  the  last  place. 
Our  short  lives  will  not  serve  u.s  for  the  attainment  of  all  things;  nor  can  our 
minds  be  always  intent  on  something  to  be  learned.  The  weakness  of  our  con- 
stitutions, both  of  mind  and  body,  requires,  that  we  should  be  often  unbent: 
and  he  that  will  make  a  good  use  of  any  part  of  his  hfe,  must  allow  a  large 
portion  of  it  to  recreation.  At  least  this  mut^t  not  be  denied  to  young  people 
unless  whilst  you,  with  too  mucli  haste,  make  them  old,  you  have  the  displeasure 
to  set  them  in  their  graves,  or  a  second  childhood,  sooner- than  you  could  wi?h. 
And  therefore  I  think,  that  the  time  and  pains  allotted  to  serious  improvements, 
should  be  employed  about  things  of  most  use  and  consequence,  and  that  too  in 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION  335 

the  methods  the  most  easy  and  short,  that  could  be  at  any  rate  obtained :  and, 
perhaps,  as  I  have  above  said,  it  would  be  none  of  the  least  secrets  of  educa- 
tion, to  make  the  exercises  in  the  body  and  the  mind,  the  recreation  one  to 
another.  I  doubt  not  but  that  something  might  be  done  in  it,  by  a  prudent 
man,  that  would  well  consider  the  temper  and  inclination  of  his  jMipil.  For  he 
that  is  wearied  either  with  study  or  dancing,  does  not  desire  presently  to  go 
to  sleep ;  but  to  do  something  else,  which  may  divert  and  dehght  him.  But 
this  must  be  always  remembered,  that  nothing  can  come  into  the  account  of 
recreation,  that  is  not  done  with  delight. 

192.  Fencing  and  riding  the  great  horse,  are  looTved  upon  as  so  necessary  to 
parts  of  breeding,  that  it  would  be  thought  a  great  omission  to  neglect  them : 
the  latter  of  the  two  being  for  the  most  part  to  be  learned  only  in  great  towns, 
is  one  of  the  best  exercises  for  health,  which  is  to  be  had  in  those  places  of  ease 
and  luxury  :  and  upon  that  account,  makes  a  fit  part  of  a  young  gentleman's 
employment  during  his  abode  there.  And  as  far  as  it  conduces  to  give  a  man  a 
firm  and  graceful  seat  on  horseback,  and  to  make  him  able  to  teach  Iiis  horse  to 
stop  and  turn  quick,  and  to  rest  on  his  haunclies,  is  of  use  to  a  gentleman  both 
in  peace  and  war.  But  whether  it  be  of  moment  enough  to  be  made  a  business 
of,  and  deserve  to  take  up  more  of  his  time,  than  should  barely  for  his  health 
be  employed  at  due  intervals  in  some  such  vigorous  exercise,  I  shall  leave  to 
the  discrefion  of  parents  and  tutors,  who  will  do  well  to  remember,  in  all  the 
parts  of  education,  that  most  time  and  application  is  to  be  bestowed  on  that 
which  is  like  to  be  of  greatest  consequence,  and  frequentest  use,  in  the  ordi- 
nary course  and  occurrences  of  that  life  the  young  man  is  designed  for. 

FENCING. 

193.  As  for  fencing,  it  seems  to  me  a  good  exercise  for  health,  but  dangerous 
to  the  life.  The  confidence  of  their  skill  being  apt  to  engage  in  quarrels  those 
that  think  they  have  learned  to  use  their  swords.  This  presumption  makes  them 
often  more  touchy  than  needs,  on  points  of  honor,  and  slight  or  no  provoca- 
tions. Young  men  in  their  warm  blood  are  forward  to  think  they  have  in  vain 
learned  to  fence,  if  they  never  show  their  skill  and  courage  in  a  duel :  and  they 
seem  to  have  reason.  But  how  many  sad  tragedies  that  reason  has  been  the 
occasion  of,  the  tears  of  many  a  mother  can  witness.  A  man  that  can  not  fence 
will  be  more  careful  to  keep  out  of  bullies'  and  gamesters'  company,  and  will  not 
be  half  so  apt  to  stand  upon  punctilios,  nor  to  give  affronts,  or  fiercely  justify  them 
when  given,  wliich  is  that  which  usually  makes  the  quarrel.  And  when  a  man 
is  in  the  field,  a  moderate  skill  in  fencing  rather  exposes  him  to  the  sword  of 
his  enemy,  than  secures  him  from  it.  And  certainly  a  man  of  courage  who  can  not 
fence  at  all,  and  therefore  will  put  all  upon  one  trust,  and  not  stand  parrying, 
has  the  odds  against  a  moderate  fencer,  especially  if  he  has  skill  in  wrestling. 
And  therefore,  if  any  provision  be  to  be  made  against  such  accidents,  and  a 
man  be  to  prepare  his  son  for  duels,  I  had  much  rather  mine  should  be  a  good 
wrestler  than  an  ordinary  fencer ;  which  is  the  most  a  gentleman  can  attain  to 
in  it,  unless  he  ^vill  be  constantly  in  the  fencing-school,  and  every  day  exercis- 
ing. But  since  fencing  and  riding  the  great  horse,  are  so  generally  looked  upon 
as  necessary  qualifications  in  the  breeding  of  a  gentleman,  it  will  be  hard  wholly 
to  deny  any  one  of  that  rank  these  marks  of  distinction.  I  shall  leave  it  there- 
fore to  the  father,  to  con&ider,  how  far  the  temper  of  his  son  and  the  station 
he  is  like  to  be  in,  will  allow,   or  encourage  him  to  comply  with  fashions, 


336  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

which,  having  very  little  to  do  with  civil  life,  were  yet  formerly  unkno\\Ti  to  the 
most  warlike  nations ;  and  seem  to  have  added  little  of  force  or  courage  to 
those  who  have  received  them,  unless  we  will  think  martial  skill  or  prowess 
have  been  improved  by  duelling,  with  which  fencing  came  into,  and  with  which, 
I  presume,  it  will  go  out  of  the  world. 

194.  These  are  my  present  thoughts  concerning  learning  and  accomplish- 
ments.    The  great  business  of  all  is  virtue  and  wisdom. 

"  NuUum  numen  abest,  si  sit  prudentia." 

Teach  him  to  get  a  mastery  over  his  inclinations,  and  submit  his  appetite  to 
reason.  This  being  obtained,  and  by  constant  practice  settled  into  habit,  the 
hardest  part  of  the  task  is  over.  To  bring  a  young  man  to  this,  I  know  nothing 
which  so  much  contributes,  as  the  love  of  praise  and  commendation,  which 
should,  therefore,  be  instilled  into  him  by  all  arts  imaginable.  Make  his  mind 
as  sensible  of  credit  and  shame  as  may  be:  and  wlien  you  have  done  tliat,  you 
have  put  a  principle  into  him,  which  will  influence  his  actions,  when  you  are 
not  by;  to  which  the  fear  of  a  little  smart  of  a  rod  is  not  comparable,  and  which 
will  be  the  proper  stock,  whereon  afterwards  to  graft  the  true  principles  of 
morality  and  religion. 

MANUAL  TRADE.  , 

195.  I  have  one  thing  more  to  add,  which  as  soon  as  I  mention,  I  shall  run 
the  danger  of  being  suspected  to  have  forgot  what  I  am  about,  and  what  I  have 
above  written  concerning  education,  all  tending  towards  a  gentleman's  calling, 
with  which  a  trade  seems  wholly  to  be  inconsistent.  And  yet,  I  can  not  for- 
bear to  say,  I  would  have  him  learn  a  trade,  a  manual  trade ;  nay,  two  or  three, 
but  one  more  particularly. 

196.  The  busy  inclination  of  children  being  always  to  be  directed  to  some- 
thing that  may  be  useful  to  them,  the  advantages  proposed  from  what  they 
are  set  about  may  be  considered  of  two  kinds;  1.  Where  the  skill  itself,  that 
is  got  by  exercise,  is  worth  the  having.  Thus  skill  not  only  in  languages,  and 
learned  sciences,  but  in  painting,  turning,  gardening,  tempering,  and  working 
in  iron,  and  all  other  useful  arts,  is  worth  the  having.  2.  Where  the  exercise 
itself,  without  any  consideration,  is  necessary,  or  useful  for  health.  Knowl- 
edge in  some  things  is  so  necessary  to  be  got  by  children,  whUst  they 
are  young,  that  some  part  of  their  time  is  to  be  allotted  to  their  improvement 
in  tliem,  though  those  eraploj'raents  contribute  nothing  at  all  to  their  health : 
such  are  reading,  and  writing,  and  all  other  sedentary  studies,  for  the  cultiva- 
ting of  the  mind,  which  unavoidably  take  up  a  great  part  of  gentlemen's 
time,  quite  from  their  cradles.  Other  manual  arts,  which  are  both  got  and 
exercised  by  labor,  do  many  of  them,  by  that  exerci.«e,  not  only  increase  our 
dexterity  and  skill,  but  contribute  to  our  healtli  too  especially ;  such  as  employ 
us  in  the  open  air.  In  these,  then,  health  and  improvement  may  be  joined 
together,  and  of  these  should  some  fit  ones  be  chosen,  to  be  made  the  recrea- 
tions of  one,  whose  chief  business  is  with  books  and  study.  In  this  clioice, 
the  age  and  inclination  of  the  person  is  to  be  considered,  and  constraint  always 
to  be  avoided  in  bringing  him  to  it.  For  command  and  force  may  often  create, 
but  can  never  cure  an  aversion :  and,  whatever  any  one  is  brought  to  by  com- 
pulsion, he  will  leave  as  soon  as  he  can,  and  be  little  profited,  and  less  recre- 
ated by,  whilst  he  is  at  it. 


LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION.  337 

PAINTING. 

197.  That  which  of  all  others  would  please  me  best,  would  be  a  painter, 
■were  there  not  an  argument  or  two  against  it  not  easy  to  be  answered.  First, 
•ill  painting  is  one  of  the  worst  things  in  the  world ;  and  to  attain  a  tolerable 
■degree  of  skill  in  it,  requires  too  much  of  a  man's  time.  If  he  has  a  natural 
inclination  to  it,  it  wiU  endanger  the  neglect  of  all  other  more  useful  studies, 
to  give  way  to  that ;  and  if  he  have  no  inclination  to  it,  all  the  time,  pains, 
and  money  shall  be  employed  in  it,  will  be  thrown  away  to  no  purpose.  An- 
other reason  why  I  am  not  for  painting  in  a  gentleman,  is,  because  it  is  a 
sedentary  recreation,  which  more  employs  the  mind  than  the  body.  A  gentle- 
man's more  serious  employment,  I  look  on  to  be  study ;  and  when  that  demands 
relaxation  and  refreshment,  it  should  be  in  some  exercise  of  the  body,  which 
unbends  the  thought,  and  confirms  the  health  and  strength.  For  these  two 
reasons  I  am  not  for  painting. 

GARDENING.      JOINERY. 

198.  In  the  next  place,  for  a  country  gentleman,  I  should  propose  one,  or 
rather  both  these ;  viz.  gardening  or  husbandry  in  general,  and  working  in  wood, 
as  a  carpenter,  joiner,  or  turner ;  these  being  fit  and  healthy  recreations  for  a 
man  of  study,  or  business.  For  since  the  mind  endures  not  to  be  constantly 
employed  in  the  same  thing,  or  way ;  and  sedentary  or  studious  men  should 
have  some  exercise,  that  at  the  same  time  might  divert  their  minds,  and  employ 
their  bodies;  I  know  none  that  could  do  it  better  for  a  country-gentleman,  than 
these  two,  the  one  of  them  affording  him  exercise,  when  the  weather  or  season 
keeps  him  from  the  other.  Besides  that,  by  being  skilled  in  the  one  of  them, 
he  will  be  able  to  govern  and  teach  his  gardener ;  by  the  other,  contrive  and 
make  a  great  many  things  both  of  delight  and  use :  though  these  I  propose  not 
as  the  chief  end  of  his  labor,  but  as  temptations  to  it ;  diversion  from  his  other 
more  serious  thoughts  and  employments,  by  useful  and  healthy  manual  exercise, 
being  what  I  chiefly  aim  at  in  it. 

199.  The  great  men  among  the  ancients  understood  very  well  how  to  recon- 
cile manual  labor  with  affairs  of  state,  and  thought  it  no  lessening  to  their  dig- 
nity to  make  the  one  the  recreation  to  the  other.  That  indeed  which  seems 
most  generally  to  have  employed  and  diverted  their  spare  hours  was  agriculture. 
Gideon  amongst  the  Jews  was  taken  from  threshing,  as  well  as  Cincinnatus 
amongst  the  Romans  from  the  plow,  to  command  the  armies  of  their  countries 
against  their  enemies ;  and  it  is  plain  their  dexterous  handling  of  the  flail  or  the 
plow,  and  being  good  workmen  with  these  tools,  did  not  hinder  their  skill  in 
arms  nor  make  thera  less  able  in  the  arts  of  war  or  government.  They  were 
great  captains  and  statesmen  as  well  as  husbandmen.  Cato  major,  who  had  with 
great  reputation  borne  all  the  great  offices  of  the  commonwealth,  has  left  an 
evidence  under  his  own  hand  how  much  he  was  versed  in  country  affairs ;  and, 
as  I  remember,  Cyrus  thought  gardening  so  little  beneath  the  dignity  and  gran- 
deur of  a  throne,  that  he  showed  Xenophon  a  large  field  of  fruit-trees,  all  of  his 
own  planting.  The  records  of  antiquity,  both  amongst  Jews  and  Gentiles,  are 
fiill  of  instances  of  this  kind,  if  it  were  necessary  to  recommend  useful  recrea- 
tions by  examples. 

RECREATION. 

200.  Nor  let  it  be  thought  that  I  mistake,  when  I  call  these  or  the  like  exer- 
nises  of  manual  arts,  diversions  or  recreations ;  for  recreation  is  not  being  idle, 

22 


338  LOCKE  ON  EDLCATION. 

(as  everj  one  may  observe,)  but  easing  the  wearied  part  by  change  of  business 
and  he  that  thinks  diversion  may  not  lie  in  hard  and  painful  labor,  forgets  tlie 
early  rising,  hard  riding,  heat,  cold  and  hunger  of  huntsmen,  which  is  yet  known 
to  be  the  constant  recreation  of  men  of  the  greatest  condition.  Delving,  plant- 
ing, inoculating,  or  any  the  like  profitable  employments,  would  be  no  less  a 
diversion,  than  any  of  the  idle  sports  in  fashion,  if  men  could  but  be  brought  to 
delight  in  them,  which  custom  and  skill  in  a  trade  will  quickly  bring  any  one 
to  do.  And  I  doubt  not,  but  there  are  to  be  found  those,  who,  being  frequently 
called  to  cards,  or  any  other  play,  by  those  they  could  not  refuse,  have  been 
more  tired  with  these  recreations,  than  with  any  of  the  most  serious  employment 
of  life ;  though  the  play  has  been  such  as  they  have  naturally  had  no  aversioa 
to,  and  with  which  the}-^  could  willingly  sometimes  divert  themselves. 

201.  Play,  wherein  persons  of  condition,  especially  ladies,  waste  so  much  of 
their  time,  is  a  plain  instance  to  me,  that  men  can  not  be  perfectly  idle ;  they 
must  be  doing  something.  For  how  else  could  they  sit  so  many  hours  toiling 
at  that,  which  generally  gives  more  vexation  than  delight  to  people,  whilst  they 
are  actually  engaged  in  it?  It  is  certain,  gaming  leaves  no  satisfaction  behind 
it  to  those  who  reflect  when  it  is  over,  and  it  no  way  profits  either  body  or  mind  : 
as  to  their  estates,  if  it  strike  so  deep  as  to  concern  them,  it  is  a  trade  then,  and 
not  a  recreation,  wherein  few,  that  have  any  thing  else  to  live  on,  thrive :  and 
at  best,  a  thriving  gamester  has  but  a  poor  trade  on  it,  who  fills  his  pocket  at  the 
price  of  his  reputation. 

Recreation  belongs  not  to  people,  who  are  strangers  to  business,  and  are  not 
wasted  and  wearied  with  the  employment  of  their  calling.  The  skill  should  be, 
so  to  order  their  time  of  recreation,  that  it  may  relax  and  refresh  the  part  that 
has  been  exercised,  and  is  tired;  and  yet  do  something,  which,  besides  the  pres- 
ent delight  and  ease,  may  produce  what  will  afterwards  be  profitable.  It  haa 
been  nothing  but  the  vanity  and  pride  of  greatness  and  riches,  tliat  has  brought 
unprofitable  and  dangerous  pastimes  (as  they  are  called,)  into  fashion,  and  per- 
suaded people  into  a  belief,  that  the  learning  or  putting  their  hands  to  any 
thing  that  was  useful,  could  not  be  a  diversion  fit  for  a  gentleman.  This  has 
been  that,  which  has  given  cards,  dice,  and  drinking,  so  much  credit  in  the 
world:  and  a  great  many  throw  away  their  spare  hours  in  them,  through  the 
prevalency  of  custom,  and  want  of  some  better  employment  to  fill  up  the 
vacancy  of  leisure,  more  than  from  any  real  delight  is  to  be  found  in  them.  They 
can  not  bear  the  dead  weight  of  unemployed  time  lying  upon  their  hands,  nor 
the  uneasiness  it  is  to'  do  nothing  at  all :  and  having  never  learned  any  laud- 
able manual  art  wherewith  to  divert  themselves,  they  have  recourse  to  those 
foolLsh,  or  ill  ways  in  use,  to  help  off  their  time,  which  a  rational  man,  till  cor- 
rupted by  custom,  could  find  very  little  pleasure  in. 

TRADE. 

202.  I  say  not  this,  that  I  would  never  have  a  young  gentleman  accommo- 
date himself  to  the  innocent  diversions  in  fashion,  amongst  those  of  his  age  and 
condition.  I  am  so  far  from  having  him  austere  and  morose  to  that  degree,  that 
I  would  persuade  him  to  more  than  ordinary  complaisance  for  all  the  gaieties 
and  diversions  of  those  he  converses  with,  and  be  averse  or  testy  in  nothing, 
tlioy  should  desire  of  him,  that  might  become  a  gentleman  and  an  honest  man; 
though  as  to  cards  and  dice.  I  think  the  safest  and  best  way  is  never  to  learn  any 
plfi\'  upon  them,  and  so  to  be  iniMpacitatcd  for  those  dangero'.istLMnptarions,  anJ 


LOCKE  ON   KDLCATION.  :^i]Cf 

encroaching  wasters  of  useful  time.  But  allowance  being  made  for  idle  and 
jovial  conversation,  and  all  fashionable  becoming  recreations;  I  say,  a  young 
man  will  have  time  enough,  from  his  serious  and  main  business,  to  learn  almost 
any  trade.  It  is  want  of  application,  and  not  of  leisure,  that  men  are  not 
skillful  in.  more  arts  than  one ;  and  an  hour  in  a  day,  constantly  employed  in 
such  a  way  of  diversion,  will  carry  a  man,  in  a  short  time,  a  great  deal  farther 
than  he  can  imagine :  which,  if  it  were  of  no  other  use  but  to  drive  the  com- 
mon, vicious,  useless,  and  dangerous  pastimes  out  of  fashion,  and  to  show  there 
was  no  need  of  them,  would  deserve  to  be  encouraged.  If  men  from  their 
youth  were  weaned  from  that  sauntering  humor,  wherein  some,  out  of  custom, 
let  a  good  part  of  their  lives  run  uselessly  away,  without  either  business  or 
recreation,  they  would  find  time  enough  to  acquire  dexterity  and  skill  in  hun- 
dreds of  things,  which  though  remote  from  their  proper  callings,  would  not  at  all 
interfere  with  them.  And  therefore,  I  think,  for  this,  as  well  as  other  reasons 
before-mentioned,  a  lazy,  listless  humor,  that  idly  dreams  away  the  days,  is  of 
all  others  the  least  to  be  indulged,  or  permitted  in  young  people.  It  is  the 
proper  state  of  One  sick,  and  out  of  order  in  his  health,  and  is  tolerable  in  no- 
body else,  of  what  age  or  condition  soever. 

203.  To  the  arts  above-mentioned,  may  be  added  perfuming,  varnishing, 
graving,  and  several  sorts  of  working  in  iron,  brass  and  silver :  and  ifj  as  it 
happens  to  most  young  gentlemen,  that  a  considerable  part  of  his  time  be  spent 
in  a  great  town,  he  may  learn  to  cut,  polish  and  set  precious  stones,  or  employ 
himself  in  grinding  and  polishing  optical  glasses.  Amongst  the  great  variety 
there  is  of  ingenious  manual  arts,  it  will  be  impossible  that  no  one  should  be 
found  to  please  and  dehght  him,  unless  he  be  either  idle  or  debauched,  which  is 
not  to  be  supposed  in  a  right  way  of  education.  And  since  it  can  not  be 
always  employed  in  study,  reading,  and  conversation,  there  will  be  many  an 
hour,  besides  what  his  exercises  will  take  up,  which,  if  not  spent  this  way,  will 
be  spent  worse.  For,  I  conclude,  a  young  man  will  seldom  desire  to  sit  per- 
fectly still  and  idle ;  or  if  he  does,  it  is  a  fault  that  ought  to  be  mended. 

204.  But  if  his  mistaken  parents,  frightened  with  the  disgracefiil  names  of 
mechanic  and  trade,  shall  have  an  aversion  to  any  thing  of  this  kind  in  their 
children  ;  yet  there  is  one  thing  relating  to  trade,  which  when  thej^  consider, 
they  will  think  absolutely  necessary  for  their  sons  to  learn. 

merchants'  accounts, 

Merchants'  accounts,  though  a  science  not  likely  to  help  a  gentleman  to  get 
an  estate,  yet  possibly  there  is  not  any  thing  of  more  use  and  efBcacy  to  make 
nim  preserve  the  estate  he  has.  It  is  seldom  observed,  that  he  who  keeps  an 
account  of  his  income  and  expenses,  and  thereby  has  constantly  under  view  the 
course  of  his  domestic  affairs,  lets  them  run  to  ruin  ;  and  I  doubt  not  but  many 
a  man  gets  behind-hand  before  he  is  aware,  or  runs  further  on,  when  he  is  once 
m,  for  want  of  this  care,  or  the  skill  to  do  it.  I  would  therefore  advise  all  gen- 
tlemen to  learn  perfectly  merchants'  accounts,  and  not  to  think  it  is  a  skill  thai 
belongs  not  to  them,  because  it  has  received  its  name  from,  and  has  been  chiefly 
practiced  by  men  of  traffic. 

205.  When  my  young  master  has  once  got  the  skill  of  keeping  accounts 
(which  is  a  business  of  reason  more  than  arithmetic,)  perhaps  it  will  not  ha 
amiss,  that  his  father  from  thencefortli  require  him  to  do  it  in  all  liis  concern- 


340  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

ments.  Not  that  I  would  have  him  set  down  every  pint  of  wine,  or  pla}',  that 
costs  him  money  ;  the  general  name  of  expenses  will  serve  for  such  things  well 
enough :  nor  would  I  have  his  father  look  so  narrowly  into  these  accounts,  as 
to  take  occasion  from  thence  to  criticise  on  his  expenses.  He  must  remember, 
that  he  himself  was  once  a  young  man,  and  not  forget  the  thoughts  he  had  then, 
nor  the  right  his  son  has  to  have  the  same,  and  to  luve  allowance  made  for 
them.  If,  therefore,  I  would  have  the  young  gentleman  obliged  to  keep  an  ac- 
count, it  is  not  at  all  to  have  that  way  a  check  upon  his  expenses,  (for  what  the 
father  allows  him,  he  ought  to  let  him  be  fully  master  of,)  but  only,  that  he 
might  be  brought  early  into  the  custom  of  doing  it,  and  that  it  might  be  made 
familiar  and  habitual  to  him  betimes,  which  will  be  so  useful  and  necessary  to 
be  constantly  practiced  through  the  whole  course  of  his  life.  A  noble  Vene- 
tian, whose  sou  wallowed  in  the  plenty  of  his  father  s  riches,  finding  his  son's 
«xpenses  grow  very  high  and  extravagant,  ordered  his  cashier  to  let  him  have, 
for  the  future,  no  more  money  than  what  he  should  count  when  he  received  it. 
This  one  would  think  no  great  restraint  to  a  young  gentleman's  expenses,  who 
could  freely  have  as  much  money  as  oe  would  tell.  But  yet  this,  to  one,  who 
was  used  to  nothing  but  the  pursuit  of  his  pleasures,  proved  a  very  great 
trouble,  which  at  last  ended  in  this  sober  and  advantageous  reflection :  "  If  it 
be  so  much  pains  to  me,  barely  to  count  the  money  I  would  spend,  what  labor 
and  pains  did  it  cost  my  ancestors,  not  only  to  count,  but  get  it?"  This  rational 
thought,  suggested  by  this  little  pains  imposed  upon  him,  wrought  so  effectually 
upon  his  mind,  that  it  made  him  take  up,  and  from  that  time  forwards  prove  a 
good  husband.  This,  at  least,  every  body  must  allow,  that  nothing  is  likelier  to 
keep  a  man  within  compass,  than  the  having  constantly  before  his  eyes  the  state 
cf  his  affairs,  in  a  regular  course  of  account. 

TRAVEL. 

206.  The  last  part  usually  in  education,  is  travel,  which  is  commonly  thought 
to  finish  the  work,  and  complete  the  gentleman.  I  confess,  travel  into  foreign 
countries  has  great  advantages ;  but  the  time  usually  chosen  to  send  young  men 
abroad,  is,  I  think,  of  all  other,  that  which  renders  them  least  capable  of  reap- 
ing those  advantages.  Those  which  are  proposed,  as  to  the  main  of  them,  may 
be  reduced  to  these  two:  first,  language;  secondly,  an  improvement  in  wisdom 
and  prudence,  by  seeing  men,  and  conversing  with  people  of  tempers,  customs, 
and  ways  of  living,  different  from  one  another,  and  especially  from  those  of  his 
parish  and  neighborhood.  But  from  sixteen  to  one-and-twenty,  which  is  the 
ordinary  time  of  travel,  men  are,  of  all  their  lives,  the  least  suited  to  these  im- 
provements. The  first  season  to  get  foreign  languages,  and  form  the  tongue  to 
their  true  accents,  I  should  think,  should  be  from  seven  to  fourteen  or  sixteen  ; 
and  then,  too,  a  tutor  with  tliem  is  useful  and  necessar}',  who  may  with  those 
languages,  teach  them  other  things.  But  to  put  them  out  of  their  parents'  view, 
at  a  great  distance,  under  a  governor,  when  they  think  themselves  too  much 
men  to  be  governed  by  others,  and  yet  have  not  prudence  and  experience 
enough  to  govern  themselves ;  what  is  it  but  to  expose  them  to  all  the  greatest 
dangers  of  their  whole  life,  when  they  have  the  least  fence  and  guard  against 
them  ?  Till  that  boiling  boisterous  part  of  life  comes  on,  it  may  be  hoped  the 
tutor  may  have  some  authority ;  neither  the  stubbornness  of  age,  nor  the  tempt- 
ation or  examples  of  others  can  take  him  from  his  tutor's  conduct,  till  fifleen  or 
■sixteen;  but  then,  when  he  begins  to  consort  himself  with  men,  and  thinks 


I.OCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 


341 


bimself  one ;  when  he  comes  to  relish,  and  pride  himself  in,  manly  vie;>s.  and 
thinks  it  a  shame  to  be  any  longer  under  the  control  and  conduct  of  another; 
what  can  be  hoped  from  even  the  most  careful  and  discreet  governor,  when  nei- 
ther he  has  power  to  compel,  nor  his  pupil  a  disposition  to  be  persuaded ;  but, 
on  the  contrary,  has  the  advice  of  warm  blood,  and  prevailing  fashion,  to  hearken 
to  the  temptations  of  his  companions,  just  as  wise  as  himself,  rather  than  to  the 
persuasions  of  his  tutor,  who  is  now  looked  on  as  tlie  enemy  of  his  freedom  ? 
And  when  is  a  man  so  like  to  miscarry,  as  when  at  the  same  time  he  is  both 
raw  and  unrulj^  ?  This  is  the  season  of  all  his  life,  that  most  requires  the  eye 
and  authority  of  his  parents  and  friends  to  govern  it.  The  flexibleness  of  the 
former  part  of  a  man's  age,  not  yet  grown  up  to  be  headstrong,  makes  it  more 
governable  and  safe ;  and,  in  the  after-part,  reason  and  foresiglit  begin  a  little  to 
take  place,  and  mind  a  man  of  his  safety  and  improvement.  The  time  therefore 
I  should  think  the  fittest  for  a  young  gentleman  to  be  sent  abroad,  would  be, 
eitlier  when  he  is  younger,  under  a  tutor,  whom  he  might  be  the  better  for;  or 
wlien  he  is  some  years  older,  without  a  governor;  when  he  is  of  age  to  govern 
himselt;  and  make  observations  of  what  he  finds  in  otlier  countries  worthy  his 
notice,  and  that  might  be  of  use  to  him  after  his  return  :  and  when,  too,  being 
thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  laws  and  fashions,  the  natural  and  moral  advan- 
tages and  defects  of  his  own  country,  he  has  something  to  exchange  with 
whose  abroad,  from  whose  conversation  he  hoped  to  reap  any  knowledge. 

207.  The  ordering  of  travel  otherwise,  is  that,  I  imagine,  which  makes  so 
many  young  gentlemen  come  back  so  little  improved  by  it.  And  if  they  do 
bring  home  with  them  any  knowledge  of  the  places  and  people  they  have  seen, 
it  is  often  an  admiration  of  the  worst  and  vainest  practices  they  met  with 
abroad :  retaining  a  relish  and  memory  of  those  things,  wherein  their  liberty 
took  its  first  swing,  rather  than  of  what  should  make  them  better  and  wiser 
after  their  return.  And  indeed,  how  can  it  be  otherwise,  going  abroad  at  the 
age  they  do,  under  the  care  of  another,  who  is  to  provide  their  necessaries,  and 
make  their  observations  for  them?  Thus,  under  the  shelter  and  pretense  of  a 
governor,  thinking  themselves  excused  from  standing  upon  their  own  legs,  or 
being  accountable  for  their  own  conduct,  they  very  seldom  trouble  themselves 
with  inquiries,  or  making  useful  observations  of  their  own.  Their  thoughts  run 
after  play  and  pleasure,  wherein  they  take  it  as  a  lessening  to  be  controlled ; 
but  seldom  trouble  themselves  to  examine  the  designs,  observe  the  address,  and 
consider  the  arts,  tempers  and  inclinations  of  men  they  meet  with ;  that  so  that 
they  may  know  how  to  comport  themselves  towards  them.  Here  he  that  travels 
with  them,  is  to  screen  them,  get  them  out,  when  they  have  run  themselves 
into  the  briars;  and  in  all  their  miscarriages  be  answerable  for  them. 

208.  I  confess,  the  knowledge  of  men  is  so  great  a  skill,  that  it  is  not  to  be 
expected  a  young  man  should  presently  be  perfect  in  it.  But  yet  his  going 
abroad  is  to  little  purpose,  if  travel  does  not  sometimes  open  his  eyes,  make  him 
cautious  and  wary,  and  accustom  him  to  look  beyond  the  outside,  and,  under 
the  inoffensive  guard  of  a  civil  and  obliging  carriage,  keep  himself  free  and  safe 
in  his  conversation  with  strangers,  and  all  sorts  of  people,  without  forfeiting 
their  good  opinion.  He  that  is  sent  out  to  travel  at  the  age,  and  with  the 
thoughts  of  a  man  designing  to  improve  himself,  may  get  into  the  conversation 
and  acquaintance  of  persons  of  condition  where  he  comes ;  which,  though  a 
thing  of  most  advantage  to  a  gentleman  that  travels,  yet  I  ask,  among  our 
young  men  tliat  go  abroad  unilcr  tutors,  what  one  is  there  of  an  liundred,  "-hat 


^42  LOCKE  ON  EDUCATION. 

ever  visits  any  person  of  quality  ?  much  less  makes  an  acquaintance  with  such, 
from  whose  conversation  he  may  learn  what  is  good  breeding  in  that  country, 
and  what  is  worth  observation  in  it ;  tlwugh  from  such  persons  it  is,  one  may 
leani  more  in  one  day,  than  in  a  year's  rambling  from  one  inn  to  another.  Nor 
indeed  is  it  to  be  wondered;  for  men  of  worth  and  parts  will  not  eas'Jy  admit 
the  familiarity  of  boys,  who  yet  need  the  care  of  a  tutor:  though  a  young  gen- 
tleman and  stranger,  appearing  like  a  man,  and  showing  a  desire  to  inform  him- 
self in  the  customs,  manners,  laws,  and  government  of  the  country  he  is  in, 
will  find  welcome  assistance  and  entertainment  amongst  the  best  and  most 
knowing  persons  every  where,  who  will  be  ready  to  receive,  encourage,  and 
countenance  any  ingenious  and  inquisitive  foreigner. 

209.  This,  how  true  soever  it  be,  will  not,  I  fear,  alter  the  custom  which  has 
cast  the  time  of  travel  upon  the  worst  part  of  a  man's  life ;  but  for  reasons  not 
taken  from  their  improvement.  The  young  lad  must  not  be  ventured  abroad  at 
eight  or  ten,  for  fear  of  what  may  happen  to  the  tender  child,  though  he  tlien 
runs  ten  times  less  risk  tlian  at  sixteen  or  eighteen.  Nor  must  he  stay  at  iiome 
till  that  dange.ous  heady  age  be  over,  because  he  must  be  back  again  by  oue- 
and-twenty,  to  marry  and  propagate.  The  father  can  not  stay  any  longer  for 
the  portion,  nor  the  mother  for  a  new  set  of  babies  to  play  with ;  and  so  my 
young  master,  whatever  comes  on  it,  must  have  a  wife  looked  out  for  him,  by 
that  time  he  is  of  age ;  though  it  would  be  no  prejudice  to  his  strength,  hi3 
parts,  or  his  issue,  if  it  were  respited  for  some  time,  and  he  had  leave  to  get, 
in  years  and  knowledge,  the  start  a  little  of  his  children,  who  are  often  found 
to  tread  too  near  upon  the  heels  of  their  fathers,  to  the  no  great  satisfaction 
either  of  son  or  father.  But  the  young  gentleman  being  got  within  view  of 
matrimony,  it  is  time  to  leave  him  to  his  mistress. 

CONCLUSION. 

210.  Though  I  have  now  come  to  a  conclusion  of  what  obvious  remarks  have 
suggested  to  me  concerning  education,  I  would  not  have  it  thought  that  I  look 
on  it  as  a  just  treatise  on  this  subject.  There  are  a  thousand  other  things  that 
may  need  consideration  ;  especially  if  one  should  take  in  the  various  tempers, 
dififerdnt  inclinations,  and  particular  defaults,  that  are  to  be  found  in  children ; 
and  prescribe  proper  remedies.  The  variety  is  so  great,  that  it  would  require  a 
volume;  nor  would  that  reach  it.  Each  man's  mind  has  some  pecuharity,  as 
well  as  his  face,  that  distinguishes  him  from  all  others ;  and  there  are  possibly 
scarce  two  cliildren,  who  can  be  conducted  by  exactly  the  same  method.  Be- 
sides that,  I  think  a  prince,  a  nobleman,  and  an  ordinary  gentleman's  son, 
should  have  different  ways  of  breeding.  But  having  had  here  only  some  gen- 
eral views  in  reference  to  the  main  end  and  aims  in  education,  and  those  de- 
signed for  a  gentleman's  son,  whom  being  then  very  little,  I  considered  only  as 
white  paper,  or  wax,  to  be  molded  and  fashioned  as  one  pleases ;  I  have  touched 
little  more  than  those  heads,  which  I  judged  necessary  for  the  breeding  of  a 
young  gentleman  of  his  condition  in  general ;  and  have  now  published  these 
my  occasional  thoughts,  with  this  hope,  that,  though  this  be  far  from  being  a 
complete  treatise  on  this  subject,  or  such  as  tliat  every  one  may  find  what  will 
just  fit  his  child  in  it ;  yet  it  may  give  some  small  light  to  those,  whose  concern 
for  their  dear  little  ones  makes  them  so  irregularly  bold,  that  they  dare  venture 
to  consult  their  own  reason  in  the  education  of  their  children,  rather  than 
wholly  to  rely  upon  old  custom. 


THOUGHTS  ON   EDUCATION 

BY   HERBERT   SPENCER. 
Selected. 


THOUGHTS   ON   EDUCATION. 

SELECTED    FROM    PUBLICATIONS    BY    HERBERT    SPE'«'liK. 

r.  PHYSICAL  EDUCATION.* 

IMPORTANCE   OF   PHYSICAL   TRAINING. 

1.  To  conform  the  regimen  of  the  nursery  and  the  school  to  the  establisheii 
truths  of  modern  science — this  is  the  desideratum.  It  is  time  that  tlie  benefits 
which  our  sheep  and  oxen  have  for  years  past  derived  from  the  investigations  of 
the  laboratory,  should  be  participated  in  by  our  children.  Without  calhng  in 
question  the  great  importance  of  horse-training  and  pig-feeding,  we  would  sug- 
gest that,  as  the  rearing  of  well-grown  men  and  women  is  also  of  some  moment, 
the  conclusions  indicated  by  theory,  and  indorsed  by  practice,  ought  to  be  acted 
on  in  the  last  casi  as  in  the  first.  Probabl}-  not  a  few  will  be  startled — perhaps 
oflended — bj'  this  collocation  of  ideas.  But  it  is  a  fact  not  to  be  disputed,  and 
to  which  we  had  best  reconcile  ourselves,  tliat  man  is  subject  to  the  same 
organic  laws  as  inferior  creatures.  No  anatomist,  no  physiologist,  no  chemist, 
will  for  a  moment  hesitate  to  assert,  that  the  general  principles  which  rule  over 
the  vital  processes  in  animals  equallj'  rule  over  the  vital  processes  in  man.  And 
a  candid  admission  of  this  fact  is  not  without  its  reward:  namely,  that  the 
truths  established  by  observation  and  experiment  on  brutes,  become  more  or 
less  available  for  human  guidance.  Rudimentary  as  is  the  Science  of  Life,  it 
has  already  attained  to  certain  fundamental  principles  underlying  the  develop- 
ment of  all  organisms,  the  human  included.  That  which  has  now  to  be  done, 
and  that  which  we  sliall  endeavor  in  some  measure  to  do,  is  to  show  the  bear- 
ing of  these  fundamental  principles  upon  the  physical  training  of  childhood  and 
youth. 

FOOD. 

2.  That  over-feeding  and  under-feeding  are  both  bad,  is  a  truism.  Of  tlie  two, 
however,  the  last  is  the  worst.  As  writes  a  high  authority,  ''the  effects  of 
casual  repletion  are  less  prejudicial,  and  more  easily  corrected,  than  those  of 
inanition."!  Add  to  which,  that  where  there  has  been  no  injudicious  inter- 
ference, repletion  will  seldom  occur.  "  Excess  is  the  vice  rather  of  adults  than 
of  the  young,  who  are  rarely  either  gourmands  or  epicures,  unless  through  the 
fault  of  those  who  rear  them.":]:  This  system  of  restriction  which  many  parents 
thinlc  so  necessary,  is  based  upon  very  inadequate  observation,  and  very  errone- 
ous reasoning.  There  is  an  over-legislation  in  the  nursery,  as  well  as  an  over- 
legislation  in  the  state:  and  one  of  the  most  injurious  forms  of  it  i-s  this 
limitation  in  the  quantity  of  food. 

*  From  «ii  article  in  the  British  Quarterly  Review— republished  as  Chapter  IV  ,  in  "Educa 
lion — IntelltctiuU,  Moral  and  Physical."     Appleton.     1861. 
t "  Cyclopctdia  of  Practical  Medicine."  j  lb. 


346  SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION. 

"  But  are  children  to  bo  allowed  to  surfeit  themselves  ?  Shall  they  be  sufifered 
U)  take  their  fill  of  dainties  and  make  themselves  ill,  as  they  certainly  will  do?" 
As  thus  put,  the  question  admits  of  but  one  reply.  But  as  thus  put,  it  assumes 
the  point  at  issue.  We  contend  that,  as  appetite  is  a  good  guide  to  all  the  lower 
creation — as  it  is  a  good  guide  to  the  inlant — as  it  is  a  good  guide  to  the  in- 
valid— as  it  is  a  good  guide  to  the  difiorontly-placed  races  of  nien,  and  as  it  is  a 
good  guide  for  every  adult  who  leads  a  healthful  life;  it  may  safely  be  inferred 
that  it  is  a  good  guide  for  childhood.  It  would  be  strange  indeed  were  it  here 
alone  untrustworth}-. 

SUGAR   AND   FRUIT   IN    CHILDREN'S    WET. 

3.  Consider  the  ordinary  tastes  and  the  ordinary  treatment  of  children.  The 
love  of  sweets  is  conspicuous  and  almost  universal  among  them.  Probably 
ninety-nine  people  in  a  hundred,  presume  that  there  is  nothing  more  in  this  than 
gratification  of  the  palate ;  and  that,  in  common  with  other  sensual  desires,  it 
should  be  discouraged.  The  physiologist,  however,  whose  discoveries  lead  him 
to  an  ever-increasing  reverence  for  the  arrangements  of  things,  will  suspect  that 
there  is  something  more  in  this  love  of  sweets  than  the  current  hypothesis  sup- 
poses; and  a  little  inquiry  confirms  the  suspicion.  Any  work  on  organic 
chemistry  shows  that  sugar  plays  an  important  part  in  the  vital  processes. 
Both  saccharine  and  fatty  matters  are  eventually  oxidized  in  the  body ;  and 
there  is  an  accompanying  evolution  of  heat.  Sugar  is  the  form  to  which  sundiy 
other  compounds  have  to  be  reduced  before  they  are  available  as  heat-making 
food ;  and  this  formation  of  sugar  is  carried  on  in  the  body.  Not  only  is  starch 
changed  into  sugar  in  the  course  of  digestion,  but  it  has  been  proved  by  M. 
Claude  Bernard  that  the  liver  is  a  factory  in  which  other  constituents  of  food 
are  transformed  into  sugar.  Now,  when  to  the  fact  that  children  have  a  marked 
■desire  for  this  valuable  heat-food,  we  join  the  fact  that  they  have  usually  a 
marked  dislike  to  that  food  which  gives  out  the  greatest  amount  of  heat  during 
its  oxidation  (namely,  fat,)  we  shall  see  strong  reason  for  thinking  that  excess 
of  the  one  compensates  for  defect  of  the  other — that  the  organism  demands 
more  sugar  because  it  can  not  deal  with  much  fat.  Again,  children  are  usually 
very  fond  of  vegetable  acids.  Fruits  of  all  kinds  are  their  delight;  and,  in  the 
absence  of  anything  better,  they  will  devour  unripe  gooseberries  and  the  sourest 
of  crabs.  Now,  not  only  are  vegetable  acids,  in  common  with  mineral  ones, 
very  good  tonics,  and  beneficial  as  such  when  taken  in  moderation ;  but  they 
have,  when  administered  in  their  natural  forms,  other  advantages.  "  Eipe  fruit," 
says  Dr.  Andrew  Combe,  "  is  more  freely  given  on  the  Continent  than  in  this 
country ;  and,  particularly  when  the  bowels  act  imperfectly,  it  is  often  very 
useful."  See,  then,  the  discord  between  the  instinctive  wants  of  children  and 
their  habitual  treatment.  Here  are  two  dominant  desires,  which  there  is  good 
reason  to  believe  express  certain  needs  of  the  juvenile  constitution ;  and  not 
only  are  they  ignored  in  the  nursery  regimen,  but  there  is  a  general  tendency  to 
forbid  the  gratification  of  them.  Bread-and-milk  in  the  morning,  tea  and  bread- 
and-butter  at  night,  or  some  dietary  equally  insipid,  is  rigidly  adhered  to ;  and 
any  ministration  to  the  palate  is  thought  not  only  needless  but  wrong.  What  is 
the  necessary  consequence  ?  When,  on  fete-days  there  is  an  unlimited  access  to 
good  things — when  a  gift  of  pocket-money  brings  the  contents  of  the  confec- 
tioner's window  within  reach,  or  when  by  some  accident  the  free  run  of  a  fruit- 


SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION. 


347 


garden  is  obtained ;  then  the  long-denied,  and  therefore  intense,  desires  lead  to 
great  excesses.  There  is  an  impromptu  carnival,  caused  not  only  by  the  release 
from  past  restraints,  but  also  by  the  consciousness  that  a  long  Lent  will  begin 
on  the  morrow.  And  then,  when  the  evils  of  repletion  display  themselves,  it  is 
argued  that  children  must  not  be  left  to  the  guidance  of  their  appetites !  These 
disastrous  results  of  artificial  restrictions,  are  themselves  cited  as  proving  the 
need  for  further  restrictions!  We  contend,  therefore,  that  the  reasoning  com- 
monly used  to  justify  this  system  of  interference  is  vicious.  We  contend  that, 
were  children  allowed  daily  to  partake  of  these  more  sapid  edibles,  for  which 
there  is  a  physiological  requirement,  thej'  would  rarely  exceed,  as  they  now 
mostly  do  when  they  have  the  opportunity :  were  fruit,  as  Dr.  Combe  recom- 
mends, '"to  constitute  a  part  of  the  regular  food"  (given,  as  he  advises,  not 
between  meals,  but  along  with  them,  i  there  would  be  none  of  that  craving 
which  prompts  the  devouring  of  sucli  fruits  as  crabs  and  sloes.  And  similarly 
in  other  cases. 

QUALITY    OF    FOOD    FOR   CHILDREN. 

4.  We  have  put  the  question  to  two  of  our  leading  phj'sicians,  and  to  several 
of  the  most  distinguished  physiologists,  and  they  uniformly  agree  in  the  conclu- 
sion, that  children  should  have  a  diet  not  less  nutritive,  but,  if  anything,  more 
nutritive  than  that  of  adults. 

The  grounds  for  this  conclusion  are  obvious,  and  the  reasoning  simple.  It 
needs  but  to  compare  the  vital  processes  of  a  man  with  those  of  a  boy,  to  see  at 
once  that  the  demand  for  sustenance  is  relatively  greater  in  the  boy  than  in  the 
man.  What  are  the  ends  for  which  a  man  requires  food  ?  Each  day  his  body 
nndergoes  more  or  less  wear — wear  through  muscular  exertion,  wear  of  the 
nervous  system  through  mental  actions,  wear  of  the  viscera  in  carrying  on  the 
functions  of  life ;  and  the  tissue  thus  wasted  has  to  be  renewed.  Each  day,  too, 
b_v  perpetual  radiation,  his  body  loses  a  large  amount  of  heat ;  and  as,  for  the 
continuance  of  the  vital  actions,  the  temperature  of  the  body  must  be  mam- 
tained,  this  loss  has  to  be  compensated  by  a  constant  production  of  heat :  to 
which  end  certain  constituents  of  the  food  are  unceasingly  undergoing  oxida- 
tion. To  make  up  for  the  day's  waste,  and  to  supply  fuel  for  the  day's  expendi- 
ture of  heat,  are,  then,  the  sole  purposes  for  which  the  adult  requires  food. 
Consider,  now.  the  case  of  the  boy.  He,  too,  wastes  the  substance  of  his  body 
by  action ;  and  it  needs  but  to  note  his  restless  activity  to  see  that,  in  proportion 
to  his  bulk,  he  probably  wastes  as  much  as  a  man.  He,  too,  loses  heat  by  radia- 
tion ;  and,  as  his  body  exposes  a  greater  surface  in  proportion  to  its  mass  than 
■does  that  of  a  man.  and  therefore  lo.ses  heat  more  rapidly,  the  quantity  of  heat- 
food  he  requires  is,  bulk  for  bulk,  greater  than  that  required  by  a  man.  So  that 
even  had  the  boy  no  other  vital  processes  to  carry  on  than  the  man  has,  he 
would  need,  relatively  to  his  size,  a  somewhat  larger  supply  of  nutriment.  But. 
besides  repairing  his  body  and  maintaining  its  heat,  the  boy  has  to  make  new 
tissue — to  grow.  After  waste  and  thermal  loss  have  been  provided  for,  such 
surplus  of  nutriment  as  remains,  goes  to  the  further  building  up  of  the  frame ; 
and  only  in  virtue  of  this  surplus  is  normal  growth  possible — the  growth  that 
sometimes  takes  place  in  the  absence  of  such  surplus,  causing  a  manifest  pros- 
tration consequent  upon  defective  repair.  How  peremptory  is  the  demand  of 
the  unfolding  organism  for  materials,  is  seen  alike  in  that  "school-boy  hunger," 
.which  after-life  rarely  parallels  in  intensity,  and  in  the  comparatively  quick  re- 


348  SPENCER  ON  EDUCATIO.v. 

luni  of  appetite.  And  if  there  needs  further  evidence  of  this  extra  necessity 
for  nutriment,  we  have  it  in  the  fact  that  during  tlie  famines  following  ship- 
wrecks and  other  disasters,  the  children  are  the  first  to  die. 

This  relatively  greater  need  for  nutriment  being  admitted,  as  it  must  perforce 
ne,  the  question  that  remains  is — shall  we  meet  it  by  giving  an  excessive  quan- 
tity of  what  may  be  called  dilute  food,  or  a  more  moderate  quantity  of  concen- 
trated food  ? 

If  we  compare  different  classes  of  animals,  or  different  races  of  men,  or  the 
same  animals  or  men  when  differently  fed,  we  find  still  more  distinct  proof  that 
the  degrte  of  energy  essentially  depends  on  the  nutritiveness  of  the  food. 

VARIETY    OF    FOOD. 

5.  It  is  a  fact,  established  by  numerous  experiments,  that  there  is  scarcely 
anj-  one  food,  however  good,  which  supplies  in  due  proportions  or  right  forms 
all  the  elements  required  for  carrying  on  the  vital  processes  in  a  normal  man- 
ner :  from  whence  it  is  to  be  inferred  that  frequent  change  of  food  is  desirable 
to  balance  the  supply  of  all  the  elements.  It  is  a  further  fact,  well  known  ta 
physiologists,  that  the  enjoyment  given  by  a  much-liked  food  is  a  nervous 
stimulus,  which,  \>j  increasing  the  action  of  tlie  heart  and  so  propellmg  the 
blood  with  increased  vigor,  aids  in  the  subsequent  digestion.  And  these  truths 
are  in  harmony  witli  the  maxims  of  modern  cattle-feeding,  wliich  dictate  a  rota- 
tion of  diet. 

Xot  only,  however,  is  periodic  change  of  food  xexy  desirable ;  but,  for  the 
same  reasons,  it  is  very  desirable  that  a  mixture  of  food  should  be  taken  at  each 
meal.  The  better  balance  of  ingredients,  and  the  greater  nervous  stimulation, 
are  advantages  which  hold  here  as  before.  If  facts  are  asked  for,  we  may  name 
as  one,  the  comparative  ease  with  which  the  stomach  disposes  of  a  French 
dinner,  enormous  in  quantity  but  extremely  varied  in  material.  Few  will  con- 
tend that  an  equal  weight  of  one  kind  of  food,  however  well  cooked,  could  be 
digested  with  as  much  fiicility.  If  anj--  desire  further  facts,  they  may  find  tliem 
in  every  modern  book  on  the  management  of  animals.  Animals  thrive  best 
when  each  meal  is  made  up  of  several  things.  And  indeed,  among  men  of 
science  the  truth  has  been  long  ago  established.  The  experiments  of  Goss  and 
Stark  "afford  the  most  decisive  proof  of  the  advantage,  or  rather  the  necessity, 
of  a  mixture  of  substances,  in  order  to  produce  the  compound  which  is  the  best 
adapted  for  tlie  action  of  the  stomacli."* 

CLOTHING. 

6.  There  is  a  current  tlieorv,  vaguely  entertained,  if  not  put  into  a  definite 
formula,  that  the  sensations  are  to  be  disregarded.  They  do  not  exist  for  our 
guidance,  but  to  mislead  us,  seems  to  be  the  prevalent  belief  reduced  to  its 
naked  form.  It  is  a  grave  error:  we  are  much  more  beneficently  constituted. 
It  is  not  obedience  to  the  sensations,  but  disobedience  to  tlicm,  which  is  the 
habitual  cause  of  bodily  evils. 

Among  the  sensations  serving  for  our  guidance  are  those  of  heat  and  cold; 
and  a  clothing  for  children  which  does  not  carefully  consult  these  sensations  is 
to  be  condemned.  Tlie  common  notion  about  "  hardening  "  is  a  grievous  delu- 
sion.    Children  are  not  unfrequently   'hardened"  out  of  the  world;  and  those 

■  *  ''Ci/ctop(Bdia  of  Anatomy  and  Physiology." 


SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION.  349 

■who  survive,  permanently  suffer  either  in  growth  or  constitution.  "  Their  deli- 
cate appearance  furnishes  ample  indication  of  the  mischief  thus  produced,  and 
their  frequent  attacks  of  illness  might  prove  a  warning  even  to  unreflecting 
parents,"  says  Dr.  Combe.  The  reasoning  on  which  this  hardening  theory  rests 
is  extremely  superficial.  Wealthy  parents,  seeing  little  peasant  boys  and  girls 
playing  about  in  the  open  air  only  half-clothed,  and  joining  with  this  fact  the 
general  healthiness  of  laboring  people,  draw  the  unwarrantable  conclusion  that 
the  healthiness  is  the  result  of  the  exposure,  and  resolve  to  keep  their  own  off- 
spring scantily  covered  1  It  is  forgotten  that  these  urchins  who  gambol  upon 
village-greens  are  in  many  respects  favorably  circumstanced — that  their  days 
are  spent  in  almost  perpetual  play ;  that  they  are  always  breathing  fresh  air; 
and  that  their  systems  are  not  disturbed  by  over-taxed  brains.  For  aught  that 
appears  to  the  contrary,  their  good  health  may  be  maintained,  not  in  conse- 
quence of,  but  in  spite  of,  their  deficient  clothing.  This  alternative  conclusion 
we  believe  to  be  the  true  one  ;  and  that  an  inevitable  detriment  results  from  the 
needless  loss  of  animal  heat  to  which  they  are  subject. 

For  when,  the  constitution  being  sound  enough  to  bear  it,  exposure  does  pro- 
duce hardness,  it  does  so  at  the  expense  of  growth.  This  truth  is  displayed 
alike  in  animals  and  in  man.  The  Shetland  pony  bears  greater  inclemencies 
than  the  horses  of  the  south,  but  is  dwarfed.  Highland  sheep  and  cattle,  living 
in  a  colder  climate,  are  stunted  in  comparison  with  English  breeds.  In  both 
the  arctic  and  antarctic  regions  the  human  race  falls  much  below  its  ordinary 
height. 

Excessive  expenditure  for  fuel  entails  diminislied  means  for  other  purposes : 
wherefore  there  necessarily  results  a  body  small  in  size,  or  inferior  in  texture,  or 
both. 

As  Liebig  says: — "Our  clothing  is,  in  reference  to  the  temperature  of  the 
body,  merely  an  equivalent  for  a  certain  amount  of  food."  By  diminishing  the 
loss  of  heat,  it  diminishes  the  amount  of  fuel  needful  for  maintaining  the  heat ; 
and  when  the  stomach  has  less  to  do  in  preparing  fuel,  it  can  do  more  in  prepar- 
ing other  materials.  This  deduction  is  entirely  confirmed  by  the  experience  of 
those  who  manage  animals.  Cold  can  be  borne  by  animals  only  at  an  expense 
of  fat,  or  muscle,  or  growth,  as  the  case  may  be.  "  If  fattening  cattle  are  ex- 
posed to  a  low  temperature,  either  their  progress  must  be  retarded,  or  a  great 
additional  expenditure  of  food  incurred."*  Mr.  Apperley  insists  strongly  that, 
to  bring  hunters  into  good  condition,  it  is  necessary  that  the  stable  should  be 
kept  warm.  And  among  those  who  rear  racers,  it  is  an  established  doctrine 
that  exposure  is  to  be  avoided. 

"  The  rule  is,  therefore,  not  to  dress  in  an  invariable  way  in  all  cases,  but  to 
put  on  clothing  in  kind  and  quantity  sufficient  in  the  individual  case  to  protect  the 
body  effectually  from  an  abiding  sensation  of  cold,  however  slight."  This  rule,  the 
importance  of  which  Dr.  Combe  indicates  by  the  italics,  is  one  in  which  men  of 
science  and  practitioners  agree.  We  have  met  with  none  competent  to  form  a 
judgment  on  the  matter,  who  do  not  strongly  condemn  the  exposure  of  children's 
limbs.  If  there  is  one  point  above  others  in  which  "pestilent  custom"  should 
be  ignored,  it  is  this. 

Our  conclusions  are,  then — that,  while  the  clothing  of  children  should  never 
oe  in  such  excess  as  to  create  oppressive  warmth,  it  should  always  be  sufficient 

*  Morton's  "  Cijclopaidia  of  Agriculture." 


350  si'...\(  i;;;  (/N  i;i,i  cAiioN. 

to  prevent  any  general  feeling  of  cold;  that  instead  of  the  flimsj'  cotton,  linen, 
or  mixed  fabrics  commonly  used,  it  should  be  made  of  some  good  non-conductor, 
such  as  coarse  woollen  cloth ;  that  it  should  be  so  strong  as  to  receive  little  damage 
from  the  hard  wear  and  tear  which  cliildish  sports  will  give  it;  and  that  its  color 
should  be  such  as  will  not  soon  suffer  from  use  and  exposure. 

EXERCISE. 

7.  Perhaps  less  needs  saying  on  this  requisite  of  physical  education  tlian  on 
most  others:  at  any  rate,  in  so  far  as  boys  are  concerned.  Public  schools  and 
private  schools  alike  furnish  tolerably  adequate  playgrounds;  and  there  is 
usualh'  a  fair  share  of  time  for  out-of-door  games,  and  a  recognition  of  them  as 
needful.  Tn  this,  if  in  no  other  direction,  it  seems  admitted  that  the  natural 
promptings  of  boyish  instinct  may  advantageously  be  followed;  and,  indeed,  in 
the  modern  practice  of  breaking  the  prolonged  morning  and  afternoon's  lessons 
by  a  few  minutes'  open-air  recreation,  we  see  an  increasing  tendency  to  conform 
school  regulations  to  the  bodily  sensations  of  the  pupils.  Here,  then,  little 
needs  to  be  said  in  the  way  of  expostulation  or  suggestion. 

But  we  have  been  obliged  to  qualify  this  admission  by  inserting  the  clause 
"in  so  far  as  boys  are  concerned."  Unfortunately,  the  fact  is  quite  otherwise  in 
the  case  of  girls. 

Why  this  astonisliing  difterence?  Is  it  that  the  constitution  of  a  girl  differs 
so  entirely  from  that  of  a  boy  as  not  to  need  these  active  exercises  ?  Ts  it  that 
a  girl  has  none  of  the  promptings  to  vociferous  play  by  which  boys  are  impelled '?" 
Or  is  it  that,  while  in  boys  these  promptings  are  to  be  regarded  as  securing  that 
bodily  activity  without  which  there  can  not  be  adequate  development,  to  their 
si.sters  nature  has  given  them  for  no  purpose  whatever — unless  it  be  for  the 
vexation  of  schoolmistresses? 

"  Then  girls  should  be  allowed  to  run  wild — to  become  as  rude  as  boys,  and 
grow  up  into  romps  and  hoydens!"  exclaims  some  defender  of  the  proprieties. 
This,  we  presume,  is  the  ever-present  dread  of  schoolmistresses.  It  appears,  on 
inquiry,  that  at  "  Establishments  for  Young  Ladies  "  noisj'  play  like  that  daily 
indulged  in  by  boys,  is  a  punishable  offense ;  and  it  is  to  be  inferred  that  this 
noisy  play  is  forbidden,  lest  unlady-like  habits  should  be  formed.  The  fear  is 
quite  goundless,  however.  For  if  the  sportive  activity  allowed  to  boys  does  not 
prevent  them  from  growing  up  into  gentlemen ;  why  should  a  like  sportive  ac- 
tivity allowed  to  girls  prevent  them  from  growing  up  into  ladies?  Rough  as 
may  have  been  their  accustomed  playground  frolics,  j'ouths  who  have  letl:  school 
do  not  indulge  in  leapfrog  in  the  street,  or  marbles  in  the  drawing-room. 
Abandoning  their  jackets,  they  abandon  at  the  same  time  boyish  games ;  and 
display  an  anxiety — oflen  a  ludicrous  anxiety — to  avoid  whatever  is  not  manly. 
If  now,  on  arriving  at  the  due  age,  this  feeling  of  masculine  dignity  puts  so 
efficient  a  restraint  on  the  romping  sports  of  boyhood,  will  not  the  feeling  of 
feminine  modesty,  gradually  strengthening  as  maturity  is  approached,  put  an 
efficient  restraint  on  the  like  sports  of  girlhood  ?  Have  not  women  even  a 
greater  regard  for  appearances  than  men  ?  and  will  there  not  consequently  arise 
in  them  even  a  stronger  check  to  whatever  is  rough  or  boisterous  ?  How  absurd 
is  the  supposition  that  the  womanly  instincts  would  not  assert  themselves  but 
for  the  rigorous  discipline  of  schoolniistres.ses ! 

The  natural  spontaneous  exercise  having  been  forbidden,  and  the  bad  conse- 
niiences  of  no  exercise  having  become  con.spicuous,  there  has  been  adopted  a 


SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION.  351 

system  of  factitious  exercise — gymnastics.  That  this  is  better  than  nothing  w 
admit ;  but  that  it  is  an  adequate  substitute  for  play  we  deny.  The  defects  are 
both  positive  and  negative.  In  the  first  place,  these  formal,  muscular  motions, 
necessarily  much  less  varied  than  those  accompanying  juvenile  sports,  do  not 
secure  so  equable  a  distribution  of  action  to  all  parts  of  the  body ;  whence  it 
results  that  the  exertion,  falling  on  special  parts,  produces  fatigue  sooner  than 
it  would  else  have  done:  add  to  which,  that,  if  constantly  repeated,  this  exer- 
tion of  special  parts  leads  to  a  disproportionate  development.  Again,  the  quan- 
tity of  exercise  thus  taken  will  be  deficient,  not  only  in  consequence  of  uneven 
distribution,  but  it  will  be  further  deficient  in  consequence  of  lack  of  interest. 
Even  when  not  made  repulsive,  as  they  sometimes  are,  by  assuming  the  shape 
of  appointed  lessons,  these  monotonous  movements  are  sure  to-become  weari- 
some, from  the  absence  of  amusement.  Competition  it  is  true,  serves  as  a 
stimulus ;  but  it  is  not  a  lasting  stimulus,  like  that  enjoyment  which  accom- 
panies varied  play.  Not  only,  however,  are  gymnastics  inferior  in  respect  of  the 
quantity  of  muscular  exertion  which  they  secure ;  they  are  still  more  inferior  in 
respect  of  the  quality.  Tins  comparative  want  of  enjoyment  to  which  we  have 
just  referred  as  a  cause  of  early  desistance  from  artificial  exercises,  is  also  a  cause 
of  inferiority  in  the  eSects  they  produce  on  the  system.  The  common  assump- 
tion that  so  long  as  the  amount  of  bodily  action  is  the  same,  it  matters  not 
whether  it  be  pleasurable  or  otherwise,  is  a  grave  mistake.  An  agreeable  men- 
tal excitement  has  a  highly  invigorating  influence.  See  the  effect  produced  upon 
an  invalid  by  good  news,  or  by  the  visit  of  an  old  friend.  Mark  how  careful 
medical  men  are  to  recommend  lively  society  to  debilitated  patients.  Remem- 
ber how  beneficial  to  tlie  health  is  the  gratification  produced  bj'-  change  of  scene. 
The  truth  is  that  happiness  is  the  most  powerful  of  tonics.  By  accelerating  the 
circulation  of  the  blood,  it  facilitates  the  performance  of  every  function ;  and  so 
tends  alike  to  increase  health  when  it  exists,  and  to  restore  it  when  it  has  been 
lost.  Hence  the  essential  superiority  of  play  to  gymnastics.  The  extreme  in- 
terest fell  by  children  in  their  games,  and  the  riotous  glee  with  which  they  carry 
on  their  rougher  frolics,  are  of  as  much  importance  as  the  accompanying  exer- 
tion. And  as  not  supplying  these  mental  stimuli,  gymnastics,  must  be  fundar 
mentally  defective. 

Granting  then,  as  we  do,  that  formal  exercises  of  the  limbs  are  better  than 
nothing — granting,  further,  that  they  may  be  used  with  advantage  as  supple- 
mentary aids ;  we  yet  contend  that  such  formal  exercises  can  never  supply  the 
place  of  the  exercises  prompted  by  nature.  For  girls,  as  well  as  boys,  the 
sportive  activities  to  which  the  instincts  impel,  are  essential  to  bodily  welfare. 
"Whoever  forbids  them,  forbids  the  divinely-appointed  means  to  physical 
development. 

EXCESS  OP  MENTAL  ACTIVITY. 

8.  On  old  and  young,  the  pressure  of  modern  life  puts  a  still-increasing  strain. 
In  all  businesses  and  professions,  intenser  competition  taxes  the  energies  and 
abilities  of  every  adult ;  and,  with  the  view  of  better  fitting  the  young  to  hold 
their  place  under  this  intenser  competition,  they  are  subject  to  a  more  severe  dis- 
cipline than  heretofore.  The  damage  is  thus  doubled.  Fathers,  who  find  not  only 
that  they  are  run  hard  by  tlieir  multiplying  competitors,  but  that,  wliilo  laboring 
under  this  disadvantage,  they  have  to  maintain  a  more  expensive  style  of  living, 
are  all  the  year  round  obliged  to  work  early  and  lat  o,  taking  little  exercise  and  get 


'^52  SPENCER  ON  EDUCATIO.N. 

ting  but  short  holidays.  The  constitutions,  shaken  by  this  long  continued  over- 
application,  they  bequeath  to  their  children.  And  then  these  comparatively  feeble 
children,  predisposed  as  they  are  to  break  down  even  under  an  ordinary  strain 
upon  their  energies,  are  required  to  go  through  a  curricv,lum  much  more  extended 
tlian  that  prescribed  for  the  unenfeebled  children  of  past  generations. 

That  disastrous  consequences  must  result  from  this  cumulative  transgression 
might  be  predicted  with  certainty ;  and  that  they  do  result,  every  observant 
person  knows.  Go  where  you  will,  and  before  long  there  come  under  your 
notice  cases  of  children,  or  youths,  of  either  sex,  more  or  less  injured  by  undue 
study.  Here,  to  recover  from  a  state  of  debility  thus  produced,  a  year's  rustica- 
tion has  been  found  necessary.  There  you  tind  a  chronic  congestion  of  the 
brain,  that  has  already  lasted  many  months,  and  threatens  to  last  much  longer, 
xsow  you  hear  of  a  fever  that  resulted  from  the  over-excitement  in  some  way 
brought  on  at  school.  And,  again,  the  instance  is  that  of  a  youth  who  has 
already  had  once  to  desist  from  his  studies,  and  who,  since  he  has  returned  to 
them,  is  frequently  taken  out  of  his  class  in  a  fainting  fit.  We  state  facts — 
facts  that  have  not  been  sought  for,  but  have  been  thrust  upon  our  observation 
during  the  last  two  years:  and  that,  too,  within  a  very  limited  range. 

If  injuries  so  conspicuous  are  thus  frequent,  how  very  general  must  be  the 
smaller  and  inconspicuous  injuries.  To  one  case  where  positive  illness  is  directly 
traceable  to  over-application,  there  are  probably  at  least  half-a-dozen  cases 
where  the  evil  is  unobtrusive  and  slowly  accumulating — cases  where  there  is 
frequent  derangement  of  the  functions,  attributed  to  this  or  that  special  cause, 
or  to  constitutional  delicacy ;  cases  where  there  is  retardation  and  premature 
arrest  of  bodily  growth ;  cases  where  a  latent  tendency  to  consumption  is 
brought  out  and  established ;  cases  whore  a  predisposition  is  given  to  that  now 
common  cerebral  disorder  brought  on  by  the  hard  work  of  adult  life.  How  com- 
monly constitutions  are  thus  undermined,  will  be  clear  to  all  who,  after  noting 
the  frequent  ailments  of  hard-worked  professional  and  mercantile  men,  will  re- 
flect on  the  disastrous  effects  which  undue  application  must  produce  upun  the 
undeveloped  systems  of  the  young.  The  young  are  competent  to  bear  neither 
as  much  hardship,  nor  as  much  physical  exertion,  nor  as  much  mental  exertion, 
as  the  full  grown.  Judge,  then,  if  the  full  grown  so  manifestly  suffer  from  the 
excessive  mental  exertion  required  of  them,  how  great  must  be  the  damage 
which  a  mental  exertion,  often  equally  excessive,  inflicts  upon  the  young  1 

Most  parents  are  more  or  less  aware  of  the  evil  consequences  that  follow  in- 
fant precocit}'.  In  every  society  may  be  heard  reprobation  of  those  who  too 
early  stimulate  the  minds  of  their  little  ones.  And  the  dread  of  this  early 
stimulation  is  great  in  proportion  as  there  is  adequate  knowledge  of  the  effects : 
witness  the  implied  opinion  of  one  of  our  most  distinguished  professors  of  phy- 
siology, who  told  us  that  he  did  not  intend  his  little  boy  to  learn  any  lessons 
until  he  was  eight  years  old.  But  while  to  all  it  is  a  familiar  truth  that  a  forced 
development  of  intelligence  in  childhood  entails  disastrous  results — either  phy- 
sical feebleness,  or  ultimate  stupidity,  or  early  death — it  appears  not  to  be  per- 
ceived that  throughout  youth  the  same  truth  holds.  Yet  it  is  certain  that  it 
must  do  so.  There  is  a  given  order  in  which,  and  a  given  rate  at  which,  tho 
{acuities  unfold.  If  the  course  of  education  conforms  itself  to  that  of  order  and 
rate,  well.  If  not — if  the  higher  faculties  are  early  taxed  by  presenting  aii 
order  of  knowledge  more  complex  and  abstract  than  can  be  readily  assimilated; 
or  if,  by  excess  of  culture,  the  intellect  in  general  is  developed  to  a  degree 


SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION.  853 

'beyond* that  which  is  natural  to  the  age,*  the  abnormal  result  so  produced 
will  inevitably  be  accompanied  by  some  equivalent,  or  more  tlian  equivalent, 
eviL 

For  Nature  is  a  strict  accountant;  and  if  you  demand  of  her  in  one  direction 
more  than  she  is  prepared  to  lay  out,  she  balances  the  account  by  making  a 
deduction  elsewhere.  If  you  will  let  her  follow  her  own  course,  taking  care  to 
supply,  in  right  quantities  and  kinds,  the  raw  materials  of  bodily  and  mental 
growth  required  at  each  age,  she  will  eventually  produce  an  individual  more  or 
less  evenly  developed.  !£,  however,  you  insist  on  premature  or  undue  growth 
of  any  one  part,  she  will,  with  more  or  less  protest,  concede  the  point;  but  that 
she  may  do  your  extra  work,  she  must  leave  some  of  her  more  important  work 
undone.  Let  it  never  be  forgotten  that  the  amount  of  vital  energy  which  the 
body  at  any  moment  possesses  is  hmited;  and  that,  being  limited,  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  get  from  it  more  than  a  fixed  quantity  of  results.  In  a  child  or  youth 
the  demands  upon  this  vital  energy  are  various  and  urgent.  As  before  pointed 
out,  the  waste  consequent  on  the  day's  bodily  exercise  has  to  be  repaired;  the 
wear  of  brain  entailed  by  the  day's  study  has  to  be  made  good ;  a  certain  addi- 
tional growth  of  body  has  to  be  provided  for;  and  also  a  certain  additional 
growth  of  brain:  add  to  which  the  amount  of  energy  absorbed  in  the  digestion 
of  the  large  quantity  of  food  required  for  meeting  these  many  demands.  Now, 
that  to  divert  an  excess  of  energy  into  any  one  of  these  channels  is  to  abstract 
it  from  the  others,  is  not  only  manifest  d  piiori,  but  may  be  shown  d  posteriori 
from  the  experience  of  every  one.  Every  one  knows,  for  instance,  tliat  the 
digestion  of  a  heavy  meal  makes  such  a  demand  on  the  system  as  to  produce 
lassitude  of  mind  and  body,  ending  not  unfrequently  in  sleep.  Every  one 
knows,  too,  that  excess  of  bodily  exercise  diminishes  the  power  of  thought — 
that  the  temporary  prostration  following  any  sudden  exertion,  or  tlie  fatigue 
produced  by  a  thirty  miles'  walk,  is  accompanied  by  a  disinchnation  to  mental 
effort ;  that,  after  a  month's  pedestrian  tour,  the  mental  inertia  is  such  that  some 
days  are  required  to  overcome  it ;  and  that  in  peasants  who  spend  their  lives  in 
muscular  labor  the  activity  of  mind  is  very  small.  Again,  it  is  a  truth  fimiiliar 
to  all  that  during  those  fits  of  extreme  rapid  growth  which  sometimes  occur  in 
childhood,  the  great  abstraction  of  energy  is  shown  in  the  attendant  prostration, 
bodily  and  mental.  Once  more,  the  facts  that  violent  muscular  exertion  after 
eating  will  stop  digestion,  and  tliat  children  who  are  early  put  to  hard  labor  be- 
come stunted,  similarly  exhibit  the  antagonism — similarly  imply  that  excess  of 
activity  in  one  direction  involves  deficiency  of  it  in  other  directions.  Now,  the 
law  which  is  thus  manifest  in  extreme  cases  holds  in  all  cases.  These  injurious 
abstractions  of  energy  as  cortainl}'  take  place  when  the  undue  demands  are  slight 
and  constant,  as  when  they  are  great  and  sudden.  Hence,  if  in  youtli,  the  ex- 
penditure in  mental  labor  exceeds  that  \^'hich  nature  had  provided  for;  the  ex- 
penditure for  other  puposes  falls  below  what  it  should  have  been :  and  evils  of 
one  kind  or  other  are  inevitably  entailed. 

It  is  a  ph3'siological  law,  first  pointed  out  by  M.  Isidore  St.  Ililaire,  and  to 
which  attention  has  been  drawn  by  Mr.  Lewes  in  his  essay  on  Dwarfs  and 
Giants,  tiiat  there  is  an  antagonism  between  growth  and  develo2mient.  By  growth, 
as  used  in  this  antithetical  sense,  is  to  be  understood  increase  of  size;  by  develop- 
ment, increase  of  structure.  And  the  law  is,  that  great  activity  in  either  of  tliese 
processes  involves  retardation  or  arrest  of  the  other. 

This  law  is  true  not  only  of  the  organism  as  a  whole,  but  of  each  separate 

23 


354  SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION. 

part.  The  abnormally  rapid  advance  of  any  part  in  respect  of  structure  involves 
premature  arrest  of  its  growth ;  and  this  happens  with  the  organ  of  the  mind 
as  certainly  as  witli  any  other  organ.  Tlie  brain,  which  during  early  years  is 
relatively  large  in  mass  but  imperfect  in  structure  will,  if  required  to  perform  its 
functions  with  undue  activity,  undergo  a  structural  advance  greater  than  is  ap- 
propriate to  the  age ;  but  the  ultimate  effect  will  be  a  falling  short  of  the  size 
and  power  that  would  else  have  been  attained.  And  this  is  a  part  cause — 
probably  the  chief  cause — why  precocious  children,  and  youths  who  up  to  a  cer- 
tain time  were  carrj-ing  all  before  them,  so  often  stop  short  and  disappoint  tho 
high  hopes  of  tlieir  parents. 

But  these  results  of  over-education,  disastrous  as  they  are,  are  perhaps  less 
disastrous  than  the  results  produced  upon  the  health — the  undermined  constitu- 
tion, the  enfeebled  energies,  the  morbid  feelings.  Recent  discoveries  in  physi- 
ology have  shown  how  immense  is  the  influence  of  the  brain  over  the  functions 
of  tlie  body.  The  digestion  of  the  food,  the  circulation  of  the  blood,  and  throngh 
these  all  other  organic  processes,  are  profoundly  aflected  by  cerebral  excitement. 
AVlioever  has  seen  repeated,  as  we  have,  the  experiment  first  performed  by 
Weber,  showing  the  consequence  of  irritating  the  vagm  nerve  which  connects 
the  brain  with  the  viscera — whoever  has  seen  the  action  of  the  heart  suddenly 
arrested  by  the  irritation  of  this  nerve ;  slowly  recommencing  when  the  irrita- 
tion is  suspended ;  and  again  arrested  tho  moment  it  is  renewed ;  will  have  a 
vivid  conception  of  the  depressing  influence  which  an  over-wrought  brain  exer- 
cises on  the  body. 

More  or  less  of  this  constitutional  disturbance  will  inevitably  follow  an  exer- 
tion of  brain  beyond  that  which  nature  had  provided  for;  and  when  not  so  ex- 
cessive as  to  produce  absolute  illness,  is  sure  to  entail  a  slowly  accumulating 
degeneracy  of  physique.  With  a  small  and  festidious  appetite,  an  imperfect 
digestion,  and  an  enfeebled  circulation,  how  can  the  developing  body  flourish? 
The  due  performance  of  every  vital  process  depends  on  the  adequate  supply  of 
good  blood.  Without  enough  good  blood,  no  gland  can  secrete  properly,  no 
viscus  can  fully  discharge  its  ofiBce.  Without  enough  of  good  blood,  no  nerve, 
muscle,  membrane,  or  other  tissue  can  be  efiBciently  repaired.  Without  enough 
good  blood,  growth  will  neither  be  sound  nor  sufficient.  Judge,  then,  how  bad 
must  be  the  consequences  when  to  a  growing  body  the  weakened  stomach  sup- 
plies blood  that  is  deficient  in  quantity  and  poor  in  quality;  while  the  debili- 
tated heart  propels  this  poor  and  scanty  blood  with  unnatural  slowness. 

We  contend,  then,  that  this  over-education  is  vicious  in  eveiy  way — vicious, 
as  giving  knowledge  that  will  soon  be  forgotten ;  vicious,  as  producing  a  dis- 
gust for  knowledge;  vicious,  as  neglecting  that  organization  of  knowledge 
which  is  more  important  than  its  acquisition ;  vicious,  as  weakening  or  destroy- 
ing that  energy,  without  which  a  trained  intellect  is  useless:  vicious,  as  entail- 
ing that  ill-health  for  which  even  success  would  not  compensate,  and  which 
makes  failure  doubly  bitter. 

On  women  the  effects  of  this  forcing  sj'stem  are,  if  possible,  even  more  injuri- 
ous than  on  men.  Being  in  great  measure  debarred  from  those  vigorous  and 
enjoyable  exercises  of  body  by  which  boys  mitigate  the  evils  of  excessive  study, 
girls  feel  these  evils  in  their  full  intensity.  Hence,  the  much  smaller  proportioa 
of  them  who  grow  up  well  made  and  healthy. 

It  needs  but  to  remember  that  one  of  Nature's  ends,  or  rather  her  supreme 
end,  is  the  welfare  of  posterity — it  needs  but  to  remember  that,  in  so  far  as 


SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION.  355 

posterity  are  concerned,  a  cultivated  intelligence  based  upon  a  bad  physiiiue  is 
of  little  worth,  seeing  that  its  descendants  will  die  out  in  a  generation  or  two — 
it  needs  but  to  bear  in  mind  that  a  good  physique,  however  poor  the  accom- 
panying mental  endowments,  is  worth  preserving,  because,  throughout  future 
generations,  the  mental  endowments  may  be  indefinitely  developed — it  needs 
but  to  contemplate  these  truths,  to  see  how  important  is  the  balance  of  instincts 
above  described.  But,  purpose  apart,  the  instincts  being  thus  balanced,  it  is  a 
fatal  folly  to  persist  in  a  system  which  undermines  a  girl's  constitution  that  it 
may  overload  her  memory.  Educate  as  highly  as  possible — the  higher  the 
better — providing  no  bodily  injury  is  entailed  (and  we  may  remark,  in  passing, 
that  a  high  standard  might  be  so  reached  were  the  parrot-faculty  cultivated  less, 
and  the  human  faculty  more,  and  were  the  discipline  extended  over  that  now 
wasted  period  between  leaving  school  and  being  married.)  But  to  educate  in 
such  a  manner,  or  to  such  extent,  as  to  produce  physical  degeneracy,  is  to 
defeat  the  chief  end  for  which  the  toil  and  cost  and  anxiety  are  submitted  to. 

GENERAL  RESULTS  OP  MODERN  PHYSICAL  TREATMENT. 

9.  Our  general  conclusion  is,  that  the  ordinary  treatment  of  children  in  vari- 
ous ways,  is  seriously  prejudicial.  It  errs  in  deficient  feeding;  in  deficient  cloth- 
ing ;  in  deficient  exercise  (among  girls  at  least ;)  and  in  excessive  mental  appli- 
cation. Considering  the  regime  as  a  whole,  its  tendency  is  too  exacting:  it  asks 
too  much  and  gives  too  little.  In  the  extent  to  which  it  taxes  the  vital 
energies,  it  make  the  juvenile  life  much  more  like  the  adult  life  than  it  should 
be.  It  overlooks  the  truth  that,  as  in  the  foetus  the  entire  vitality  is  expended 
in  the  direction  of  growth — as  in  the  infant,  the  expenditure  of  vitality  in 
growth  is  so  great  as  to  leave  extremely  little  for  either  physical  or  mental 
action ;  so  throughout  childhood  and  youth  growth  is  the  dominant  requirement 
to  which  all  others  must  be  subordinated :  a  requirement  which  dictates  the 
giving  much  and  the  taking  away  of  little — a  requirement  which,  therefore, 
restricts  the -exertion  of  body  and  mind  to  a  degree  proportionate  to  the  rapidity 
of  growth — a  requirement  which  permits  the  mental  and  physical  activities  to 
increase  only  as  fast  as  the  rate  of  growth  diminishes. 

Regarded  from  another  point  of  view,  this  high-pressure  education  manifestly 
results  from  our  passing  phase  of  civilization.  In  primitive  times,  when  aggres- 
sion and  defense  were  the  leading  social  activities,  bodily  vigor  with  its  accom- 
panying courage  were  the  desiderata;  and  then  education  was  almost  wholly 
physical:  mental  cultivation  was  little  cared  for,  and  indeed,  as  in  our  own 
feudal  ages,  was  often  treated  with  contempt.  But  now  that  our  state  is  rela- 
tively peaceful — now  that  muscular  power  is  of  use  for  little  else  than  manual 
labor,  while  social  success  of  nearly  every  kind  depends  very  much  on  mental 
power ;  our  education  has  become  almost  exclusively  mental.  Instead  of  re- 
specting the  body  and  ignoring  the  mind,  we  now  respect  the  mind  and  ignore 
the  body.  Both  these  attitudes  are  wrong.  We  do  not  yet  sufficiently  realize 
the  truth  that  as,  in  this  life  of  ours,  the  physical  underlies  the  mental,  the 
mental  must  not  be  developed  at  the  expense  of  the  physical.  The  ancient  and 
modern  conceptions  must  bo  combined. 

PRESERVATION   OP   HEALTH   A   DUTY. 

10.  Few  seem  conscious  tiiat  there  is  .such  a  tiling  as  physical  morality.  Glen's 
habitual  words  and  acts  imply  the  idea  that  tlicy  are  at  liberty  to  treat  tiieir 


356  SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION. 

bodies  as  they  please.  Disorders  entailed  by  disobedience  to  Nature's  dictates, 
they  regard  simply  as  grievances :  not  as  the  eflects  of  a  conduct  more  or  less 
flagitious.  Tliough  the  evil  consequences  inflicted  on  their  dependents,  and  on 
future  generations,  are  often  as  great  as  those  caused  by  crime ;  yet  they  do  not 
think  themselves  in  any  degree  criminal.  It  is  true,  that,  in  the  case  of  drunken- 
nes.s,  the  viciousness  of  a  purely  bodily  transgression  is  recognized;  but  none 
appear  to  infer  that,  if  this  bodily  transgression  is  vicious,  so  too  is  every  bodily 
transgression.  The  fact  is,  that  all  breaches  of  the  laws  of  health  are  physical 
si)is.  When  this  is  generally  seen,  then,  and  perhaps  not  till  then,  will  the  pliy- 
sical  training  of  the  young  receive  all  the  attention  it  deserves. 

II.    MORAL  EDUCATION. 

SPECIAL   PREPARATION   NECESSARY   FOR   THE   MANAGEMENT   OF   CHILDREN. 

1.  To  prepare  the  young  for  the  duties  of  life  is  tacitly  admitted  by  all  to  be 
the  end  which  parents  and  schoolmasters  should  have  in  view;  and  happily  the 
value  of  the  things  tauglit,  and  tlie  goodness  of  ^lie  method  followed  in  teach- 
ing them,  are  now  ostensibly  judged  by  their  fitness  to  this  end.  The  propriety 
of  substituting  for  an  exclusively  classical  training  a  training  in  which  the 
modern  languages  shall  have  a  share,  is  argued  on  this  ground.  The  necessity 
of  increasing  the  amount  of  science  is  urged  for  like  reasons.  But  though  some 
care  is  taken  to  fit  youth  of  both  sexes  for  society  and  citizenship,  no  care  what- 
ever is  taken  to  tit  them  for  the  still  more  important  position  they  will  ultimately 
have  to  fill — the  position  of  parents.  While  it  is  seen  that  for  the  purpose  of 
gaining  a  livelihood,  an  elaborate  preparation  is  needed,  it  appears  to  be  thought 
that  for  the  bringing  up  of  children,  no  preparation  whatever  is  needed. 
While  many  years  are  spent  by  a  boy  in  gaining  knowledge,  of  which  the  chief 
value  is  that  it  constitutes  "the  education  of  a  gentleman;"  and  while  many 
years  are  spent  by  a  girl  in  those  decorative  acquirements  which  fit  her  for 
evening  parties ;  not  an  hour  is  spent  by  either  of  them  in  preparation  for  that 
gravest  of  all  responsibilities — the  management  of  a  family.  Is  it  that  this 
responsibility  is  but  a  remote  contingency  ?  On  the  contrary,  it  is  certain  to 
devolve  on  nine  out  of  ten.  Is  it  that  the  discharge  of  it  is  easy  ?  Certainly 
not:  of  all  functions  which  the  adult  has  to  fulfill  this  is  the  most  difficult.  Is 
it  that  each  may  be  trusted  by  self-instruction  to  fit  himselfj  or  herself,  for  the 
office  of  parent?  No:  not  only  is  the  need  for  such  self-instruction  unrecog-- 
nized,  but  the  complexity  of  the  subject  renders  it  the  one  of  all  others  in 
which  self-instruction  is  least  likely  to  succeed.  No  rational  plea  can  be  put 
forward  for  leaving  the  Art  of  Education  out  of  our  curriculum.  Whether  as 
bearing  upon  the  happiness  of  parents  themselves,  or  whether  as  afi"ecting  the 
ciiaracters  and  lives  of  their  children  and  remote  descendants,  we  must  admit 
that  a  knowledge  of  the  right  methods  of  juvenile  culture,  physical,  intellectual, 
and  moralj  is  a  knowledge  second  to  none  in  importance.  This  topic  should 
occupy  the  highest  and  last  place  in  the  course  of  instruction  passed  through 
by  each  man  and  woman.  As  physical  maturity  is  marked  by  the  abUity  to 
produce  offspring,  so  mental  maturity  is  marked  by  the  ability  to  train  those 
offspring.  The  suljtci  which  involves  all  other  subjects,  and  therefore  the  subject  in 
which  the  education  of  every  one  should  culminate,  is  the  Theory  and  Practice  of 
Education. 

In  the  absence  of  this  preparation,  the  management  of  children,  and  more 


SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION. 


357 


especially  the  moral  management,  is  lamentably  bad.  Parents  either  never 
think  about  the  matter  at  all,  or  else  their  conclusions  are  crude  and  inconsis- 
tent. In  moet  cases,  and  especially  on  the  part  of  mothers,  the  treatment 
adopted  on  every  occasion  is  that  which  the  impulse  of  the  moment  prompts : 
it  springs  not  from  any  reasoned-out  conviction  as  to  what  will  mo.st  conduce  to 
the  child's  welfare,  but  merely  expresses  the  passing  parental  feelings,  whetlier 
good  or  ill ;  and  varies  from  hour  to  hour  as  these  feelings  vary.  Or  if  these 
blind  dictates  of  passion  are  supplemented  by  any  definite  doctrines  and 
methods,  they  are  those  that  have  bee\^  handed  down  from  the  past,  or  those 
suggested  by  the  remembrances  of  childhood,  or  tliose  adopted  from  nurses  and 
servants — metliods  devised  not  by  the  enlightenment,  but  by  the  ignorance  of 
the  time. 

The  great  error  made  by  those  who  discuss  questions  of  juvenile  discipline,  is 
in  ascribing  all  the  faults  and  difficulties  to  the  children,  and  none  to  the  parents. 
The  current  assumption  respecting  family  government,  as  respecting  national  gov- 
ernment, is.  that  the  virtues  are  with  the  rulers  and  the  vices  with  the  ruled.  Judg- 
ing by  educational  theories,  men  and  women  are  entirely  transfigured  in  the 
domestic  relation.  The  citizens  we  do  business  with,  the  people  we  meet  in  the 
world,  we  all  know  to  be  very  imperfect  creatures.  In  the  daily  scandals,  in  tlie 
quarrels  of  friends,  in  bankruptcy  disclosures,  in  lawsuits,  in  police  reports,  we 
have  constantly  thrust  before  us  the  pervading  selfishness,  dishonest}-,  brutality. 
Yet  when  we  criticise  nursery  management,  and  canvass  the  misbehavior  of 
juveniles,  we  habitually  take  for  granted  that  these  culpable  men  and  women 
are  free  from  moral  delinquency  in  the  treatment  ol'  their  ofl'spring !  So  far  is 
this  from  the  truth,  that  we  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that  to  parental  misconduct 
is  traceable  a  great  part  of  the  domestic  disorder  commonly  ascribed  to  the  per- 
versity of  children.  We  do  not  assert  this  of  the  more  sympathetic  and  self- 
restrained,  among  whom  we  hope  most  of  our  readers  may  be  classed,  but  we 
assert  it  of  the  mass.  AVhat  kind  of  moral  discipline  is  to  be  expected  from  a 
mother  wlio,  time  after  time,  angrily  shakes  her  infant  because  it  wUl  not  suckle 
her,  wliich  we  once  saw  a  mother  do  ?  How  much  love  of  justice  and  generosity 
is  hkely  to  be  instilled  by  a  father  who,  on  having  his  attention  drawn  by  his 
child's  scream  to  the  fact  that  its  finger  is  jammed  between  the  window 
sash  and  the  sill,  forthwith  begins  to  beat  the  child  instead  of  releasing  it  ?  Yet 
that  there  are  such  fathers  is  testified  to  us  by  an  eye-witness.  Or,  to  take  a 
still  stronger  case,  also  vouched  for  by  direct  testimony — what  are  the  educa- 
tional prospects  of  the  boy  who,  on  being  taken  home  with  a  dislocated  thigh, 
is  saluted  with  a  castigation  ?  It  is  true  that  these  are  extreme  instances — in- 
stances exhibiting  in  human  beings  that  bhnd  instinct  which  impels  brutes  to 
destroy  the  weakly  and  injured  of  their  own  race.  But  extreme  though  they 
are,  they  typify  feelings  and  conduct  daily  observable  in  many  families.  Who 
has  not  repeatedly  seen  a  child  slapped  by  nurse  or  parent  for  a  fretfulness 
probably  resulting  from  bodily  derangement  ?  Who,  when  watcliing  a  mother 
snatch  up  a  fallen  little  one,  has  not  often  traced,  both  in  the  rough  manner  and 
in  the  sharply-uttered  exclamation — "You  stupid  little  thing!" — an  ira.scibility 
foretelling  endless  future  squabbles  ?  Is  there  not  in  the  harsh  tones  in  which 
a  father  bids  his  children  be  quiet,  evidence  of  a  deficient  fellow-feeling  with 
them  ?  Are  not  the  constant,  and  often  quite  needless,  thwartiugs  that  the 
young  experience — the  injunctions  to  sit  still,  which  an  active  child  can  not 
obey  without  suffering  great  nervous  irritation,  the  commands  not  to  look  out 


358  SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION. 

of  the  window  when  traveling  by  railway,  which  on  a  child  of  any  intelligenca 
entails  serioua  deprivation — arc  not  these  tliwartings,  we  aak,  signs  of  a  terrible 
lack  of  sympathy  ?  The  truth  is,  that  the  ditBculties  of  moral  education  are 
necessarily  of  dual  origin— necessarily  result  from  the  combined  faults  of  parents 
and  children.  If  hereditary  tranemission  is  a  law  of  nature,  aa  every  naturalist 
knows  it  to  be,  and  as  our  daily  remarks  and  current  proverbs  admit  it  to  be; 
then  on  the  average  of  cases,  the  defects  of  children  mirror  the  defects  of  their 
parents ; — on  the  average  of  cases,  we  say,  because,  complicated  as  the  results 
are  by  the  transmitted  traits  of  remoter  ancestors,  the  correspondence  is  not 
special  but  only  general.  And  if^  on  the  average  of  cases,  this  inheritance  of 
defects  exists,  then  the  evil  passions  which  parents  have  to  check  in  their  chil- 
dren imply  like  evil  passions  in  themselves :  hidden,  it  may  be,  from  the  public 
eye ;  or  perhaps  obscured  by  other  feelings;  but  still  there. 

nature's  law  of  discipline. 

2.  When  a  child  falls,  or  runs  its  head  against  the  table,  it  suffers  a  pain,  the 
remembrance  of  which  tends  to  make  it  more  careful  for  the  future ;  and  by  an 
occasional  repetition  of  like  experiences,  it  is  eventually  disciplined  into  a  proper 
guidance  of  its  movements.  If  it  lays  hold  of  the  fire-bars,  thrusts  its  finger 
into  the  candle-flame,  or  spills  boiling  water  on  any  part  of  its  skin,  the  result- 
ing burn  or  scald  is  a  lesson  not  easily  forgotten.  So  deep  an  impression  is 
produced  by  one  or  two  such  events,  that  afterwards  no  persuasion  will  induce 
it  again  to  disregard  the  laws  of  its  constitution  in  these  ways. 

Now  in  these  and  like  cases.  Nature  illustrates  to  us  in  the  simplest  way,  th«» 
true  theory  and  practice  of  moral  discipline — a  theory  and  practice  which,  how- 
ever much  they  may  seem  to  the  superficial  like  those  commonly  received,  we 
shall  find  on  examination  to  difter  from  them  very  widely. 

Observe,  in  the  first  place,  that  in  bodily  injuries  and  their  penalties  we  have 
misconduct  and  its  consequences  reduced  to  their  simplest  forms.  Though,  ac- 
cording to  their  popular  acceptations  right  and  wrong  are  words  scarcely  applica- 
ble to  actions  that  have  none  but  direct  bodily  effects;  yet  whoever  considers 
the  matter  will  see  that  such  actions  must  be  as  much  classifiable  under  these 
heads  as  any  other  actions.  From  whatever  basis  they  start,  all  theories  of 
morality  agree  in  considering  that  conduct  whose  total  results,  immediate  and 
remote,  are  beneficial,  is  good  conduct ;  while  conduct  wliose  total  results,  im- 
mediate and  remote,  are  injurious,  is  bad  conduct.  The  happiness  or  misery 
caused  by  it  are  the  ultimate  standards  by  which  all  men  judge  of  behavior. 
"We  consider  drunkenness  wrong  because  of  the  physical  degeneracy  and  ac- 
companying moral  evils  entailed  on  the  transgressor  and  his  dependents.  Did 
theft  uniformly  give  pleasure  both  to  taker  and  loser,  we  should  not  find  it  in 
our  catalogue  of  sins.  Were  it  conceivable  that  benevolent  actions  multiplied 
human  pains,  we  should  condemn  them — should  not  consider  them-benevolent. 
It  needs  but  to  read  the  first  newspaper  leader,  or  listen  to  any  conversation 
touching  social  affairs,  to  see  that  acts  of  parliament,  political  movements,  phi- 
lanthropic agitations,  in  common  with  the  doings  of  individuals,  are  judged  by 
their  anticipated  results  in  multiplying  the  pleasures  or  pains  of  men.  And  if 
on  looking  on  all  secondary  superinduced  ideas,  we  find  these  to  be  our  ultimate 
tests  of  right  and  wrong,  we  can  not  refuse  to  class  purely  physical  actions 
as  right  or  wrong  according  to  the  beneficial  or  detrimental  results  they 
produce. 


SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION.  359 

Note,  in  the  second  place,  the  character  of  the  punishments  by  which  these 
physical  transgressions  are  prevented.  Punishments,  we  call  them,  in  the 
absence  of  a  belter  word  ,•  for  they  are  not  punishments  in  the  literal  sense. 
They  are  not  artificial  and  unnecessarj'  inflictions  of  pain;  but  are  simply  the 
beneficent  checks  to  actions  that  are  essentially  at  variance  with  bodUy  wel- 
fare— checks  in  the  absence  of  which  life  would  quickly  be  destroyed  by  bodily 
injuries.  It  is  the  peculiarity  of  these  penalties,  if  we  must  so  call  them,  that 
they  are  nothing  more  than  the  unavoidable  consequences  of  the  deeds  which 
they  follow:  they  are  nothing  more  than  the  inevii<ibie  reaciions  entailed  by  the 
child's  actions. 

Let  it  be  further  borne  in  mind  that  these  painful  reactions  are  proportionate 
to  the  degree  in  which  the  organic  laws  have  been  transgressed.  A  slight  ac- 
cident brings  a  slight  pain,  a  more  serious  one,  a  greater  pain.  When  a  child 
tumbles  over  the  door-step,  it  is  not  ordained  that  it  shall  suffer  in  excess  of  the 
amount  necessary,  with  the  view  of  making  it  still  more  cautious  than  the 
necessary  suflering  will  make  it  But  from  its  daily  experience  it  is  lefl  to 
learn  the  greater  or  less  penalties  of  greater  or  less  errors;  and  to  behave 
accordingly. 

And  then  mark,  lastly,  that  these  natural  reactions  which  follow  the  child's 
wrong  actions,  are  constant,  direct,  unhesitating,  and  not  to  be  escaped.  No 
threats:  but  a  silent,  rigorous  performance.  If  a  child  runs  a  pin  into  its  finger, 
pain  follows.  If  it  does  it  again,  there  is  again  the  same  result:  and  so  on  per- 
petually. In  all  its  dealings  with  surrounding  inorganic  nature  it  finds  this  un- 
swerving persistence,  which  listens  to  no  excuse,  and  from  which  there  is  no 
appeal ;  and  very  soon  recognizing  this  stern  though  beneficent  discipline,  it 
becomes  extremely  careful  not  to  transgress. 

Still  more  significant  will  these  general  truths  appear,  when  we  remember 
that  they  hold  throughout  adult  life  as  well  as  throughout  infantine  life.  It  is 
by  an  experimentally-gained  knowledge  of  the  natural  consequences,  that  men 
and  women  are  checked  when  they  go  wrong.  After  home  education  has 
ceased,  and  when  there  are  no  longer  parents  and  teachers  to  forbid  this  or  that 
kind  of  conduct,  there  comes  into  plaj'  a  discipline  like  that  by  which  the  young 
child  is  taught  its  first  lessons  in  self-guidance.  If  the  youth  entering  upon  the 
business  of  hfe  idles  away  his  time  and  fulfills  slowly  or  unskillfiilly  the  duties 
intrusted  to  him,  there  by-and-by  follows  the  natural  penalty:  he  is  discharged, 
and  left  to  suffer  for  awhile  the  evils  of  relative  poverty.  On  the  unpunctual 
man,  failing  alike  his  appointments  of  business  and  pleasure,  there  continually 
fall  the  consequent  inconveniences,  losses,  and  deprivations.  The  avaricious 
tradesman  who  charges  too  high  a  rate  of  profit,  loses  his  customers,  and  so  is 
checked  in  his  greediness.  Diminishing  practice  teaches  the  inattentive  doctor 
to  bestow  more  trouble  on  his  patients.  The  too"  credulous  creditor  and  the 
over-sanguine  speculator  alike  learn  by  the  difficulties  which  rashness  entails  on 
them,  the  necessity  of  being  more  cautious  in  their  engagements.  And  so 
throughout  the  life  of  every  citizen.  In  the  quotation  so  often  made  apropos 
of  these  cases — " The  burnt  chUd  dreads  the  fire" — we  see  not  only  that  the 
analogy  between  this  social  discipline  and  Nature's  early  discipline  of  infants  is 
universally  recognized;  but  we  also  see  an  implied  conviction  that  this  disci- 
pline is  of  the  most  efficient  kind.  Nay  more,  this  conviction  is  not  only  im- 
plied, but  distinctly  stated.  Every  one  has  heard  others  confess  that  only  by 
•'dearly  bought  experience"  had  they  been  induced  to  give  up  some  bad  or 


360  SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION. 

foolisii  course  of  conduct  formerly  pursued.  Every  one  has  heard,  in  the  criti- 
cisms passed  on  the  doings  of  this  spendthrift  or  the  other  speculator,  the 
remark  that  advice  was  useless,  and  that  notliing  but  "bitter  experience" 
would  produce  any  effect:  nothing,  that  is,  but  sufl'eriug  the  unavoidable 
consequences. 

Must  we  not  infer  that  the  system  so  beneficent  in  its  effects,  alike  during  in- 
fanc}'  and  maturity,  will  be  equally  beneficent  throughout  youth  ?  Can  any  one 
believe  that  the  method  which  answers  so  well  in  the  first  and  the  last  divisions 
of  life  will  not  answer  in  the  intermediate  division?  Is  it  not  mauifost  that  as 
"ministers  and  interpreters  of  Nature"  it  is  the  function  of  parents  to  see  that 
their  children  habitually  experience  the  true  consequences  of  their  conduct — 
the  natural  reactions:  neither  warding  them  off,  nor  intensifying  them,  nor 
putting  artificial  consequences  in  place  of  them?  No  unprejudiced  reader  will 
hesitate  in  his  assent. 

Probably,  however,  not  a  few  will  contend  that  already  most  parents  do 
this — that  the  punishments  they  inflict  are,  in  the  majority  of  cases,  the  true 
consequences  of  ill-conduct — that  parental  anger,  venting  itself  in  harsh  words 
and  deeds,  is  the  result  of  a  child's  transgression — and  that,  in  the  suffering, 
physical  or  moral,  which  the  child  is  subject  to,  it  experiences  the  natural  reac- 
tion of  its  misbehavior.  Along  with  much  error  this  assertion,  doubtless,  con- 
tains some  truth.  It  is  unquestionable  that  the  displeasure  of  fathers  and 
mothers  is  a  true  consequence  of  juvenile  delinquency ;  and  that  the  manifesta- 
tion of  it  is  a  normal  check  upon  such  delinquency.  It  is  un<|uestionablo  that 
the  scoldings,  and  threats,  and  blows,  which  a  passionate  parent  visits  on  offend- 
ing little  ones,  are  efiects  actually  produced  in  such  a  parent  by  their  offenses ; 
and  so  are,  in  some  sort,  to  be  considered  as  among  the  natural  reactions  of 
their  wrong  actions.  And  we  are  by  no  means  prepared  to  say  that  these 
modes  of  treatment  are  not  relatively  right — right,  that  is,  in  relation  to  the  un- 
controllable children  of  ill-controlled  adults;  and  right  in  relation  to  a  state  of 
society  in  which  such  ill-controlled  adults  make  up  the  mass  of  the  people.  As 
already  suggested,  educational  systems,  like  political  and  other  institutions,  are 
generally  as  good  as  the  state  of  human  nature  permits.  The  barbarous  chil- 
dren of  barbarous  parents  are  probably  only  to  be  restrained  by  the  barbarous 
methods  which  such  parents  spontaneously  employ ;  while  submission  to  these 
barbarous  methods  is  perhaps  the  best  preparation  such  children  can  have  for 
the  barbarous  society  in  which  they  are  presently  to  play  a  part.  Conversely, 
the  civilized  members  of  a  civilized  society  will  spontaneously  manifest  their 
displeasure  in  less 'violent  ways — will  spontaneously  use  milder  measures: 
measures  strong  enough  for  their  better-natured  children.  Tlius  it  is  doubtless 
true  that,  in  so  far  as  the  expression  of  parental  feeling  is  concerned,  the  prin- 
ciple of  the  natural  reaction  is  always  more  or  less  followed.  The  system 
of  domestic  government  ever  gravitates  towards  its  right  form. 

But  now  observe  two  important  facts.  In  the  first  place,  observe  that,  in 
states  of  rapid  transition  like  ours,  which  witness  a  long-drawn  battle  between 
old  and  new  theories  and  old  and  new  practices,  the  educational  methods  in  use 
are  apt  to  bo  considerabl}'  out  of  harmony  with  the  times.  In  deference  to 
dogmas  fit  only  for  the  ages  that  uttered  them,  many  parents  inflict  punish- 
ments that  do  violence  to  their  own  feelings,  and  so  visit  on  their  children  un- 
natural reactions;  while  other  parents,  enthusiastic  in  their  hopes  of  immediate 
perfection,  rush  to  the  opposite  extreme.     And  then  observe,  in  the  second 


SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION.  361 

place,  that  the  discipline  on  which  we  are  insisting  is  not  so  much  the  experi- 
ence of  parental  approbation  or  disapprobation,  which,  in  most  cases,  is  only  a 
secondary  consequence  of  a  child's  conduct ;  but  it  is  the  experience  of  those 
results  which  would  naturallj'  flow  from  the  condual^in  the  absence  of  parental 
opinion  or  interference.  The  truly  instructive  and  salutary  consequences  are 
not  those  inflicted  by  parents  when  they  take  upon  themselves  to  be  Nature's 
proxies ;  but  they  are  those  inflicted  by  Nature  herself  We  will  endeavor  to 
make  this  distinction  clear  by  a  few  illustrations,  which,  while  thej'  show  what 
we  mean  by  natural  reactions  as  contrasted  with  artificial  ones,  will  afford  some 
directly  practical  suggestions. 

EXAMPLES   OF   THE   RULE   OF   NATURAL   REACTION. 

3.  In  every  family  where  there  are  j'oung  children  there  almost  daily  occur 
cases  of  what  mothers  and  servants  call  "making  a  litter."  A  child  has  had 
out  its  box  of  toys,  and  leaves  them  scattered  about  the  floor.  Or  a  handful  of 
flowers,  brought  in  from  a  morning  walk,  is  presently  seen  dispersed  over  tables 
and  chairs.  Or  a  little  girl,  making  doll's- clothes,  disfigures  the  room  with 
shreds.  In  most  cases  the  trouble  of  rectifying  this  disorder  falls  anywhere  but 
in  the  right  place :  if  in  the  nursery,  the  nurse  herseltj  with  many  grumblings 
about  "tiresome  little  things,"  &c.,  undertakes  the  task;  if  below  stairs,  the 
task  usually  devolves  either  on  one  of  the  elder  children  or  on  the  housemaid; 
the  transgressor  being  visited  with  nothing  more  than  a  scolding.  In  this  very 
simple  case,  however,  there  are  many  parents  wise  enough  to  follow  out,  more 
or  less  consistently,  the  normal  course — that  of  making  the  child  itself  collect 
the  toys  or  shreds.  The  labor  of  putting  things  in  order  is  the  true  consequence 
of  having  put  them  in  disorder.  Every  trader  in  his  office,  every  wife  in  her 
household,  has  daily  experience  of  this  fact.  And  if  education  be  a  prepara- 
tion for  the  business  of  life,  then  every  child  should  also,  from  the  beginning, 
have  daily  experience  of  this  fact.  If  the  natural  penalty  be  met  by  any  re- 
fractory behavior  (which  it  may  perhaps  be  where  the  general  system  of  moral 
discipline  previously  pursued  has  been  bad,)  then  the  proper  course  is  to  let  the 
child  feel  the  ulterior  reaction  consequent  on  its  disobedience.  Having  refused 
or  neglected  to  pick  up  and  put  away  the  things  it  has  scattered  about,  and 
having  thereby  entailed  the  trouble  of  doing  this  on  some  one  else,  the  child 
should,  on  subsequent  occasions,  be  denied  the  means  of  giving  this  trouble. 
When  next  it  petitions  for  its  toy-box,  the  reply  of  its  mamma  should  be — 
"The  last  time  you  had  your  toys  you  left  them  lying  on  the  floor,  and  Jane 
had  to  pick  them  up.  Jane  is  too  bu.sy  to  pick  up  every  day  the  things  you 
leave  about ;  and  I  can  not  do  it  myself.  So  that,  as  you  will  not  put  away 
your  toys  when  you  have  done  with  them,  I  can  not  let  you  have  them."  This 
is  obviously  a  natural  consequence,  neither  increased  nor  lessened;  and  must 
be  so  recognized  by  a  child.  The  penalty  comes,  too,  at  the  moment  when  it  is 
most  keenly  felt.  A  new-born  desire  is  balked  at  the  moment  of  anticipated 
gratification;  and  the  strong  impression  so  produced  can  scarcely  fiiil  to  have 
an  effect  on  the  future  conduct:  an  effect  which,  by  consistent  repetition,  will 
do  whatever  can  be  done  in  curing  the  fault.  Add  to  which,  that,  by  this 
method,  a  child  is  early  taught  the  lesson  which  can  not  be  learnt  too 
soon,  that  in  this  world  of  ours  pleasures  are  rightly  to  be  obtained  only  by 
labor. 

Not  long  since  we  had  frequently  to  listen  to  the  reprimands  visited  on  a 


362  SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION. 

little  girl  who  was  scarcely  ever  ready  in  time  for  the  daily  walk.  Of  eager 
disposition,  and  apt  to  become  thoroughly  absorbed  in  the  occupation  of  the 
moment,  Constance  never  thought  of  putting  on  her  things  until  the  rest  were 
ready.  The  governess  and  the  other  children  had  almost  invariably  to  wait ; 
and  from  the  mamma  there  almost  invariably  came  the  same  scolding.  Utterly 
as  this  system  failed  it  never  occurred  to  the  mamma  to  let  Constance  experi- 
ence the  natural  penalty.  Nor,  indeed,  would  she  try  it  when  it  was  suggested 
to  her.  In  the  world  the  penalty  of  being  behind  time  is  the  loss  of  some  ad- 
vantage that  would  else  have  been  gained:  the  train  is  gone;  or  the  steamboat 
is  just  leaving  its  moorings;  or  the  best  things  in  the  market  are  sold;  or  all 
the  good  seats  in  the  concert-room  are  filled.  And  every  one,  in  cases  per- 
petually occurring,  may  see  that  it  is  the  prospective  deprivations  entailed  by 
being  too  late  which  prevent  people  from  being  too  late.  Is  not  the  inference 
obvious  ?  Should  not  these  prospective  deprivations  control  the  child's  con- 
duct also  ?  If  Constance  is  not  ready  at  the  appointed  time,  the  natural  result 
is  that  of  being  left  behind,  and  losing  her  walk.  And  no  one  can,  we  think, 
doubt  that  after  having  once  or  twice  remained  at  home  while  the  rest  were 
enjoying  themselves  in  the  fields,  and  after  having  felt  that  this  loss  of  a  much- 
prized  gratification  was  solely  due  to  want  of  promptitude,  some  amendment 
would  take  place.  At  any  rate,  the  measure  would  be  more  effective  than  that 
perpetual  scolding  which  ends  only  in  producing  callousness. 

Again,  when  children,  with  more  than  usual  carelessness,  break  or  lose  the 
things  given  to  them,  the  natural  penalty — the  penalty  which  makes  grown-up 
persons  more  careful — is  the  consequent  inconvenience.  The  want  of  the  lost 
or  damaged  article,  and  the  cost  of  supplying  its  place,  are  tlie  experiences  by 
which  men  and  women  are  disciplined  in  tliese  matters ;  and  the  experience  of 
children  should  be  as  much  as  possible  assimilated  to  theirs.  We  do  not  refer 
to  that  earlj'  period  at  which  toys  are  pulled  to  pieces  in  the  process  of  learning 
their  physical  properties,  and  at  which  the  results  of  carelessness  can  not  be 
understood ;  but  to  a  later  period,  when  the  meaning  and  advantages  of  pro- 
perty are  perceived.  "When  a  boy,  old  enough  to  possess  a  penknife,  uses  it  so 
roughly  as  to  snap  the  blade,  or  leaves  it  in  the  grass  by  some  hedge-side,  where 
he  was  cutting  a  stick,  a  thoughtless  parent,  or  some  indulgent  relative,  will 
commonly  forthwith  buy  him  another ;  not  seeing  that,  by  doing  this,  a  valuable 
lesson  is  lost.  In  such  a  case,  a  father  may  properly  explain  that  penknives 
cost  money,  and  that  to  get  money  requires  labor ;  that  he  can  not  afford  to 
purchase  new  penknives  for  one  who  loses  or  breaks  them  ;  and  that  until  he 
sees  evidence  of  greater  carefulness  he  must  decline  to  make  good  the  loss.  A 
parallel  discipline  may  be  used  as  a  means  of  checking  extravagance. 

CONSEQUENCES  OF  OBSERVING  NATURE'S  RULES  OF  REACTIONS. 

4.  In  the  first  place,  right  conceptions  of  cause  and  effect  are  early  formed ; 
and  by  frequent  and  consistent  experience  are  eventually  rendered  definite  and 
complete.  Proper  conduct  in  life  is  much  better  guaranteed  when  the  good  and 
evil  consequences  of  actions  are  rationally  understood,  than  when  they  are 
merely  believed  on  authority.  A  child  who  finds  that  disorderliness  entails  the 
subsequent  trouble  of  putting  things  in  order,  or  who  misses  a  gratification  from 
dilatoriness,  or  whoso  want  of  care  is  followed  by  the  loss  or  breakage  of  some 
much-prized  possession,  not  only  experiences  a  keenly-felt  consequence,  but 
gains  a  knowledge  of  causation :  botli  the  one  and  the  other  being  just  hko 


fiPENCER  ON  EDUCATION.  863 

those  which  adult  life  will  bring.  "Whereas  a  child  who  in  such  eaSeS  receives 
some  reprimand  or  some  factitious  penalty,  not  only  experiences  a  consequence 
for  wliich  it  often  cares  very  little,  but  lacks  that  instruction  respecting  the 
essential  natures  of  good  and  evil  conduct,  which  it  would  else  have  gathered. 
It  is  a  vice  of  the  common  system  of  artificial  rewards  and  punishments,  long 
since  noticed  by  the  clear-sighted,  that  by  substituting  for  the  natural  results  of 
misbehavior  certain  threatened  tasks  or  castigations,  it  produces  a  radically 
wrong  standard  of  moral  guidance.  Having  throughout  infancy  and  boyhood 
always  regarded  parental  or  tutorial  displeasure  as  the  result  of  a  forbidden  ac- 
tion, the  youtii  has  gained  an  established  association  of  ideas  between  such  ac- 
tion and  such  displeasure,  as  cause  and  effect ;  and  consequently  when  parents 
and  tutors  have  abdicated,  and  their  displeasure  is  not  to  be  feared,  the  restraint 
on  a  forbidden  action  is  in  great  measure  removed:  the  true  restraints,  the 
natural  reactions,  having  yet  to  be  learnt  by  said  experience.  As  writes  one 
who  has  had  personal  knowledge  of  this  short-sighted  system:' — "Young  men 
let  loose  from  school,  particularly  those  whose  parents  have  neglected  to  exert 
their  influence,  plunge  into  every  description  of  extravagance ;  they  know  no 
rule  of  action — they  are  ignorant  of  the  reasons  for  moral  conduct— they  have 
no  foundation  to  rest  upon — and  until  they  have  been  severely  discipUned  by 
the  world  are  extremely  dangerous  members  of  society." 

Another  great  advantage  of  this  natural  system  of  discipline  is,  that  it  is  a 
system  of  pure  justice  ;  and  will  be  recognized  by  every  child  as  such.  Whoso 
suffers  nothing  more  than  the  evil  which  obviously  follows  naturally  from  his 
own  misbehavior,  is  much  less  likely  to  think  himself  wrongly  treated  than  if 
he  suffers  an  evil  artificially  inflicted  on  him ;  and  this  will  be  true  of  children 
as  of  men.  Take  the  case  of  a  boy  who  is  habitually  reckless  of  his  clothes — 
scrambles  through  hedges  without  caution,  or  is  utterly  regardless  of  mud.  If 
he  is  beaten,  or  sent  to  bed,  he  is  apt  to  regard  himself  as  ill-used ;  and  his 
mind  is  more  likely  to  be  occupied  by  thinking  over  his  injuries  than  repenting 
of  his  transgressions.  But  suppose  he  is  required  to  rectify  as  far  as  he  can  the 
harm  he  has  done — to  clean  off  the  mud  with  which  he  has  covered  himself]  or 
to  mend  the  tear  as  well  as  he  can.  "Will  he  not  feel  that  the  evil  is  one  of  his 
own  producing  ?  "Will  he  not  while  paying  this  penalty  be  continuously  con- 
scious of  the  connection  between  it  and  its  cause  ?  And  will  he  not,  spite  his 
irritation,  recognize  more  or  less  clearly  the  justice  of  the  arrangement  ?  If 
several  lessons  of  this  kind  fail  to  produce  amendment — if  suits  of  clothes  are 
prematurely  spoiled — il'  pursuing  this  same  system  of  discipline  a  father  declines 
to  spend  money  for  new  ones  until  the  ordinary  time  has  elapsed — and  if  mean- 
while, there  occur  occasions  on  which,  having  no  decent  clothes  to  go  in,  the 
boy  is  debarred  from  joining  the  rest  of  the  family  on  hohday  excursions  and 
fete,  days,  it  is  manifest  that  while  he  will  keenly  feel  the  punishment,  he  can 
scarcely  fail  to  trace  the  chain  of  causation,  and  to  perceive  that  his  own  care- 
lessness is  the  origin  of  it ;  and  seeing  this,  he  will  not  have  that  same  sense  of 
injustice  as  when  there  is  no  obvious  connection  between  the  transgression  and 
its  penalty. 

Again,  the  tempers  both  of  parents  and  children  are  much  less  hable  to  be 
ruffled  under  this  system  than  under  the  ordinary  system.  Instead  of  letting 
children  experience  the  painful  results  which  naturally  follow  from  wrong  con- 
duct, the  usual  course  pursued  by  parents  is  to  inflict  themselves  certain  other 
painful  results.      A  double  miscliief  arises  from  this.     Making,   as  they  do, 


364  SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION. 

multiplied  family  laws  ;  and  identifying  their  own  supremacy  and  dignity  with 
the  maintenance  of  these  laws ;  it  happens  that  every  transgression  comes  to  be 
regarded  as  an  offense  against  themselves,  and  a  cause  of  anger  on  their  part. 
Add  to  which  the  further  irritations  which  result  from  taking  upon  themselves, 
in  the  shape  of  extra  labor  or  cost,  those  evil  consequences  which  should  have 
been  allowed  to  fall  on  the  wrong-doers.  Similarly  with  the  children.  Penal- 
tics  which  the  necessary  reaction  of  things  brings  round  upon  them — penalties 
which  are  inflicted  by  impersonal  agency,  produce  an  irritation  that  is  compara- 
tively slight  and  transient ;  whereas,  penalties  which  are  voluntarily  inflicted  by 
a  parent,  and  are  afterwards  remembered  as  caused  by  him  or  her,  produce  an 
irritation  both  greater  and  more  continued.  Just  consider  how  disastrous 
would  be  the  result  if  this  empirical  method  were  pursued  from  the  beginning. 
Suppose  it  were  possible  for  parents  to  take  upon  themselves  the  physical  suffer- 
ings entailed  on  their  children  by  ignorance  and  awkwardness  ;  and  that  while 
bearing  these  evil  consequences  they  visited  on  their  children  certain  other  evil 
consequences,  with  the  view  of  teaching  them  the  impropriety  of  their  conduct. 
Suppose  that  when  a  child,  who  had  been  forbidden  to  meddle  with  the  kettle, 
spilt  some  boiling  water  on  its  foot,  the  mother  vicariously  assumed  the  scald 
and  gave  a  blow  in  place  of  it ;  and  similarly  in  all  other  cases.  Would  not 
the  daily  mishaps  be  sources  of  far  more  anger  than  now?  "Would  there  not  be 
chronic  ill-temper  on  both  sides?  Yet  an  exactly  parallel  policy  is  pursued  in 
after  years.  A  father  who  punishes  his  boy  for  carelessly  or  willfully  breaking 
a  sister's  toy,  and  then  himself  pays  for  a  new  toy,  does  substantially  this  same 
thing — inflicts  an  artificial  penaltj'-  on  the  trangressor,  and  takes  the  natural 
penalty  on  himself:  his  own  feelings  and  those  of  the  transgressor  being  alike 
needlessly  irritated.  If  he  simply  required  restitution  to  be  made,  he  would 
produce  far  less  heartburning.  If  he  told  the  boy  that  a  new  toy  must  be 
bought  at  his,  the  boy's  cost,  and  that  his  supply  of  pocket-money  must  be 
withheld  to  the  needful  extent,  there  would  be  much  less  cause  for  ebullition  of 
temper  on  either  side ;  while  in  the  deprivation  afterwards  felt,  the  boy  would 
experience  the  equitable  and  salutary  consequence.  In  brief,  the  system  of  dis- 
cipline by  natural  reactions  is  less  injurious  to  temper,  alike  because  it  is  per- 
ceived on  both  sides  to  be  nothing  more  than  pure  justice,  and  because  it  more 
or  less  substitutes  the  impersonal  agency  of  nature  for  the  personal  agency  of 
parents. 

"Whence  also  follows  the  manifesl^corollary,  that  under  this  system  the  parental 
and  filial  relation  will  be  a  more  friendly,  and  therefore  a  more  influential  one. 
"Whether  in  parent  or  child,  anger,  however  caused,  and  to  whomsoever  directed, 
is  more  or  less  detrimental.  But  anger  in  a  parent  towards  a  child,  and  in  a 
child  towards  a  parent,  is  especially  detrimental;  because  it  weakens  that  bond 
of  sympathy  which  is  essential  to  a  beneficent  control.  In  virtue  of  the  gen« 
eral  law  of  association  of  ideas,  it  inevitably  results,  both  in  young  and  old, 
that  dislike  is  contracted  towards  things  which  in  our  experience  are  habitually 
connected  with  disagreeable  feelings.  Or  where  attachment  originall^^  existed, 
it  is  weakened,  or  destroyed,  or  turned  into  repugnance,  according  to  the  quan- 
tity of  painful  impressions  received.  Parental  wrath,  with  its  accompanj^ing 
reprimands  and  castigations,  can  not  fail,  if  often  repeated,  to  produce  filial 
alienation ;  while  the  resentment  and  sulkiness  of  children  can  not  fail  to  weaken 
the  affection  felt  for  them,  and  may  even  end  in  destroying  it.  Hence  the 
numerous  cases  in  which  parents  (and  especially  fathers,  who  are  commonly 


SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION.  365 

deputed  to  express  the  anger  and  inflict  the  punishment)  are  regarded  with  in- 
ditference,  if  not  with  aversion ;  and  hence  the  equally  numerous  cases  in  which 
children  are  looked  upon  as  inflictions.  Seeing,  then,  as  all  must  do,  that 
estrangement  of  this  kind  is  fatal  to  a  salutary  moral  culture,  it  follows  that 
parents  can  not  be  too  solicitous  in  avoiding  occasions  of  direct  antagonism  with 
their  children — occasions  of  personal  resentment.  And  therefore  they  can  not 
too  anxiously  avaU  themselves  of  this  discipline  of  natural  consequences — this 
system  of  letting  the  penalty  be  inflicted  by  the  laws  of  things ;  which,  by 
saving  the  parent  from  the  function  of  a  penal  agent,  prevents  these  mutual 
exasperations  and  estrangements. 

ADVANTAGES   OF   TUE    METHOD   OF   NORMAL   REACTIONS. 

5.  Among  the  advantages  of  the  divinely  ordained  method  of  moral  culture  by 
the  experience  of  normal  reactions  are.  First,  that  it  gives  that  rational  compre- 
hension of  right  and  wrong  conduct  which  results  from  actual  experience  of  the 
good  and  bad  consequences  caused  by  them.  Second,  that  the  child,  suSering 
nothing  more  than  the  painful  eftects  brought  upon  it  by  its  own  wrong  actions, 
must  recognize  more  or  less  clearly  tlie  justice  of  the  penalties.  Third,  that  recog- 
nizing the  justice  of  the  penalties,  and  recseiving  those  penalties  through  the 
working  of  tilings,  rather  than  at  the  hands  of  an  individual,  its  temper  will  be 
less  disturbed;  while  the  parent  occupying  the  comparatively  passive  position 
of  taking  care  that  the  natural  penalties  are  felt,  will  preserve  a  comparative 
equanimity.  And  fourth,  that  mutual  exasperation  being  thus  in  great  measure 
prevented,  a  much  happier,  and  a  more  influential  state  of  feeling,  will  exist 
between  parent  and  child. 

THE   TRUE    RELATION   OF   PARENT   AND    CHILD. 

6.  At  present,  mothers  and  fathers  are  mostly  considered  by  their  offspring  as 
friend-enemies.  Determined  as  their  impressions  inevitably  are  by  the  treat- 
ment they  receive ;  and  oscillating  as  that  treatment  does  between  bribery  and 
thwarting,  between  petting  and  scolding,  between  gentleness  and  castigation  ; 
children  necessarily  acquire  conflicting  beliefs  respecting  the  parental  character. 
A  mother  commonly  thinks  it  quite  sufficient  to  tell  her  little  boy  that  she  is  his 
best  friend ;  and  assuming  that  he  is  in  duty  bound  to  believe  her,  concludes 
that  he  will  forthwith  do  so.  "It  is  all  for  your  good;"  "I  know  what  is  pro- 
per for  you  better  than  you  do  yourself;"  "You  are  not  old  enough  to  under- 
stand it  now,  but  when  you  grow  up  you  will  thank  me  for  doing  what  I  do ;" — 
these,  and  like  assertions,  are  daily  reiterated.  Meanwhile  the  boy  is  daily  suf- 
fering positive  penalties;  and  is  hourly  forbidden  to  do  this,  that,  and  the  other, 
which  he  was  anxious  to  do.  By  words  ho  hears  that  his  happiness  is  the  end 
in  view ;  but  from  the  accompanying  deeds  he  habitually  receives  more  or  less 
pain.  Utterly  incompetent  as  he  is  to  understand  that  future  whicli  his  mother 
has  in  view,  or  how  this  treatment  conduces  to  the  happiness  of  that  future,  he 
judges  by  such  results  as  ho  feels;  and  finding  these  results  anything  but 
pleasurable,  he  becomes  skeptical  respecting  these  professions  of  friendship, 
And  is  it  not  folly  to  expect  any  other  issue  ?  Must  not  the  child  judge  by 
such  evidence  as  he  has  got  ?  and  does  not  this  evidence  seem  to  warrant  his 
conclusion?  The  mother  would  reason  in  just  the  same  way  if  similarly 
placed.  If^  in  the  circle  of  her  acquaintance,  she  found  some  one  who  was  con- 
stantly thwarting  her  wishes,  uttering  .sharp  reprimands,  and  occasionally  inflict- 


366  SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION. 

ing  actual  penalties  on  her,  she  would  pay  but  little  attention  to  any  professions 
of  anxiety  for  her  welfare  which  accompained  these  act^.  Why,  then,  does 
she  suppose  that  her  boy  will  conclude  otherwise  ? 

Eut  now  observe  how  different  will  be  the  results  if  the  system  we  contend 
for  be  consistently  pursued — if  the  mother  not  only  avoids  becoming  the  instru- 
ment of  punishment,  but  plaj's  the  part  of  a  friend,  by  warning  her  Ixij'  of  the 
punishments  whieli  Nature  will  inflict.  Take  a  case ;  and  that  it  may  illustrate 
the  mode  in  which  this  policy  is  to  be  early  initiated,  let  it  be  one  of  the  sim- 
plest cases.  Suppose  that,  prompted  by  the  experimental  spirit  so  conspicuous 
in  children,  whose  proceedings  instinctively  conform  to  the  inductive  method 
of  inquiry — suppose  that  so  prompted  the  child  is  amusing  himself  by  lighting 
pieces  of  paper  in  the  candle  and  watching  them  burn.  If  his  mother  is  of  the 
ordinary  unrcflective  stamp,  she  will  either,  on  the  plea  of  keeping  the  child 
"out  of  mischief,''  or  from  fear  that  he  will  burn  himself,  command  him  to 
desist ;  and  in  case  of  non-compliance  will  snatch  the  paper  from  him.  On  the 
other  hand,  should  he  be  so  fortunate  as  to  have  a  mother  of  sufficient  rationality, 
who  knows  that  this  interest  with  which  the  child  is  watching  the  paper  burn 
results  from  a  healthy  inquisitiveness,  without  which  he  would  never  have 
emerged  out  of  infantine  stupidity,  and  who  is  also  wise  enough  to  consider  the 
moral  results  of  interference,  she  will  reason  thus: — "'If  I  put  a  stop  to  this  I 
shall  prevent  the  acquirement  of  a  certain  amount  of  knowledge.  It  is  true 
that  I  may  save  the  child  from  a  burn ;  but  what  then  ?  He  is  sure  to  burn 
himself  sometime ;  and  it  is  quite  essential  to  his  safety  in  life  that  he  should 
learn  bj^  experience  the  properties  of  flame.  Moreover,  if  I  forbid  him  from 
running  this  present  ri.sk,  he  is  sure  hereafter  to  run  the  same  or  a  greater  risk 
when  no  one  is  present  to  prevent  him;  whereas,  if  he  should  have  any  acci- 
dent now  that  I  am  by,  I  can  save  him  from  any  great  injury ;  add  to  which  the 
advantage  that  he  will  have  in  future  some  dread  of  fire,  and  will  be  less  likely 
to  burn  himself  to  death,  or  set  the  house  in  a  flame  when  others  are  absent. 
Furthermore,  were  I  to  make  him  desist,  I  should  thwart  him  in  the  pursuit  of 
what  is  in  itself  a  purely  harmles.s,  and  indeed,  instructive  gratification ;  and 
he  would  be  sure  to  regard  me  with  more  or  less  ill-feeling.  Ignorant  as  he  is 
of  the  pain  from  which  I  would  save  him,  and  feeling  only  the  pain  of  a  balked 
desire,  he  could  not  fail  to  look  upon  me  as  the  cause  of  that  pain.  To  save 
liim  from  a  hurt  which  he  can  not  conceive,  and  which  has  therefore  no  exist- 
ence for  him,  I  inflict  upon  him  a  hurt  which  he  feels  keenly  enough ;  and  so 
become,  from  his  point  of  view,  a  minister  of  evil.  My  best  course  then,  is 
simply  to  warn  him  of  the  danger,  and  to  be  ready  to  prevent  an}'  serious 
damage."  And  following  out  this  conclusion,  she  says  to  the  child — "  I  fear  yo\i 
will  hurt  yourself  if  you  do  that."  Suppose,  now,  that  the  child  perseveres,  as 
he  will  very  probably  do;  and  suppose  that  he  ends  by  burning  himself.  "What 
are  the  results?  In  the  first  place  he  has  gained  an  experience  which  he  must 
gain  eventually,  and  which,  for  his  own  safety  he  can  not  gain  too  soon.  And 
in  the  second  place,  he  has  found  that  his  mother's  disapproval  or  warning  was 
meant  for  his  welfare :  he  has  a  further  positive  experience  of  her  benevolence — 
a  further  reason  for  placing  confidence  in  her  judgment  and  her  kindness — a 
further  reason  for  loving  her. 

Of  course,  in  those  occasional  hazards  where  there  is  a  risk  of  broken  limbs 
or  other  serious  bodily  injury,  forcible  prevention  is  called  for.  But  leaving  out 
these  extreme -cases,  the  .system  pursued  should  be  not  that  of  guarding  a  child 


SPENCER  ON   EDUCATION.  367 

against  the  small  dangers  into  which  it  daily  runs,  but  that  of  advising  and 
warning  it  against  them.  And  by  consistently  pursuing  this  course,  a  much 
stronger  filial  affection  will  be  generated  than  commonly  exists.  If  here,  as 
elsewhere,  the  discipline  of  the  natural  reactions  is  allowed  to  come  into  play — 
if  in  all  those  out-of-door  scramblings  and  in-door  experiments,  by  which  chil- 
dren are  liable  to  hurt  themselves,  they  are  allowed  to  persevere,  subject  only 
to  dissuasion  more  or  less  earnest  according  to  the  risk,  there  can  not  fail  to 
arise  an  ever-increasing  faith  in  the  parental  friendship  and  guidance.  Not 
only,  as  before  shown,  does  the  adoption  of  this  principle  enable  fathers  and 
mothers  to  avoid  the  chief  part  of  that  odium  which  attaches  to  the  infliction  of 
positive  punishment ;  but,  as  we  here  see,  it  enables  them  further  to  avoid  the 
odium  that  attaches  to  constant  thwartings ;  and  even  to  turn  each  of  those  in- 
cidents which  commonly  cause  squabbles,  into  a  means  of  strengthening  the 
mutual  good  feeling.  Instead  of  being  told  in  words,  which  deeds  seem  to  con- 
tradict, that  their  parents  are  their  best  friends,  children  will  learn  this  truth  by 
a  consistent  daily  experience  ;  and  so  learning  it,  will  acquire  a  degree  of  trust 
and  attachment  which  nothing  else  can  give. 

HOW   TO   DEAL   WITH    GRAVE   OFFKXSES. 

1.  The  perpetual  ill-behavior  of  many  children  is  itself  the  consequence  of 
that  chronic  irritation  in  which  they  are  kept  by  bad  management.  The  state 
of  isolation  and  antagonism  produced  by  frequent  punishment,  necessarily 
deadens  the  sympathies;  necessarily,  therefore,  opens  the  way  to  those  trans- 
gressions which  the  sympathies  should  check.  That  harsh  treatment  which 
children  of  the  same  family  inflict  on  each  other  is  often,  in  great  measure,  a  re- 
flex of  the  harsh  treatment  they  receive  from  adults — partly  suggested  by 
direct  example,  and  partly  generated  by  the  ill-temper  and  the  tendency  to 
vicarious  retaliation,  which  follow  chastisements  and  scoldings.  It  can  not  be 
questioned  that  the  greater  activity  of  the  affections  and  happier  state  of  feel- 
ing, maintained  in  children  by  the  discipline  we  have  described,  must  prevent 
their  sins  against  each  other  from  being  either  so  great  or  so  frequent.  More- 
over, the  still  more  reprehensible  ofieuses,  as  lies  and  petty  thefts,  will,  by  the 
same  causes,  be  diminished.  Domestic  estrangement  is  a  fruitful  source  of  such 
transgressions.  It  is  a  law  of  human  nature,  visible  enough  to  all  who  observe, 
that  those  who  are  debarred  the  higher  gratifications  fall  back  upon  the  lower ; 
those  who  have  no  sympathetic  pleasures  seek  selfish  ones ;  and  hence,  con- 
versely, the  maintenance  of  happier  relations  between  parents  and  children 
is  calculated  to  diminish  the  number  of  those  ofleuses  of  which  selfishness  ia 
the  origin. 

When,  however,  such  offenses  are  committed,  as  they  will  occasionally  be 
even  under  the  best  system,  the  discipline  of  consequences  may  still  be  resorted 
to ;  and  if  there  exist  that  bond  of  confidence  and  affection  wliich  we  have 
described,  this  discipline  will  be  found  efficient.  For  what  are  the  natural  con- 
seqiiences,  say,  of  a  thefl  ?  They  are  of  two  kinds — direct  and  indirect.  The 
direct  consequence,  as  dictated  by  pure  equity,  is  that  of  making  restitution. 
An  absolutely  just  ruler  (and  every  parent  should  aim  to  be  one)  will  demand 
that,  wherever  it  is  possible,  a  wrong  act  shall  be  undone  by  a  riglit  one ;  and 
in  the  case  of  theft  tliis  implies  either  the  restoration  of  the  thing  stolen,  or,  if 
it  is  consumed,  then  the  giving  of  an  equivalent:  which,  in  tlie  case  of  a  child, 
may  be  eflected  out  of  its  pocket-money.     The  indirect  and  more  serious  con- 


868  SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION. 

sequence  is  the  grave  displeasure  of  parents — a  consequence  which  inevitably 
follows  among  all  peoples  sufficiently  civilized  to  regard  theft  as  a  crime;  and 
the  manifestation  of  this  displeasure  is,  in  this  instance,  the  most  severe  of  the 
natural  reactions  produced  by  the  wrong  action.  '"But,"  it  will  be  said,  "the 
manifestation  of  parental  displeasure,  either  in  words  or  blows,  is  the  ordinary 
course  in  these  cases:  the  method  leads  here  to  nothing  new."  Very  true. 
Already  we  have  admitted  that,  iu  some  directions,  this  method  is  spontaneously 
pursued.  Already  we  have  shown  that  there  is  a  more  or  less  manifest 
tendency  for  educational  systems  to  gravitate  towards  the  true  system.  And 
hero  we  may  remark,  as  before,  that  the  intensity  of  this  natural  reaction  will, 
in  the  beneficent  order  of  things,  adjust  itself  to  the  requirements — that  this 
parental  displeasure  will  vent  itself  in  violent  measures  during  comparatively 
barbarous  times,  wiicn  the  children  are  also  comparatively  barbarous:  and  will 
express  itself  less  cruelly  in  those  more  advanced  social  states  in  which,  by  im- 
plication, the  children  are  amenable  to  milder  treatment.  But  what  it  chiefly 
concerns  us  here  to  observe  is,  that  the  manifestation  of  strong  parental  dis- 
pleasure, produced  by  one  of  these  graver  offenses,  will  be  potent  for  good  just 
in  proportion  to  the  warmth  of  the  attachment  existing  between  parent  and 
child.  Just  in  proportion  as  the  discipline  of  the  natural  consequences  has 
been  consistently  pursued  in  other  cases,  will  it  be  eflBcient  in  this  case. 

DO  KOT  SET   UP  TOO   HIGH  A  STANDARD  OF  JUVENILE  GOOD   CONDUCT. 

8.  Do  not  expect  from  a  child  any  great  amount  of  moral  goodness.  During 
earh'  years  every  civilized  man  passes  through  that  phase  of  character  exhibited 
by  the  barbarous  race  from  which  he  is  descended.  As  the  child's  features — 
fiat  nose,  forward-opening  nostrils,  large  lips,  wide-apart  eyes,  absent  frontal 
sinus,  &c. — resemble  for  a  time  those  of  the  savage,  so,  too,  do  his  instincts. 
Hence  the  tendencies  to  cruelty,  to  thieving,  to  lying,  so  general  among  chil- 
dren— tendencies  which,  even  without  the  aid  of  discipline,  will  become  more 
or  less  modified  just  as  the  features  do..  The  popular  idea  that  children  are 
"  innocent,"  while  it  may  be  true  in  so  far  as  it  refers  to  evil  knowledge,  is  totally 
false  in  so  far  as  it  refers  to  evil  impulses,  as  half  an  hour's  observation  in  the 
nursery  will  prove  to  any  one.  Boys  when  left  to  themselves,  as  at  a  public 
school,  treat  each  other  far  more  brutally  than  men  do ;  and  were  they  left  to 
themselves  at  an  earlier  age  their  brutality  would  be  still  more  conspicuous. 

Not  only  is  it  unwise  to  set  up  a  high  standard  for  juveaile  good  conduct,  but 
it  is  even  unwise  to  use  very  urgent  incitements  to  such  good  conduct. 
Already  most  people  recognize  the  detrimental  results  of  intellectual  precocitj' ; 
but  there  remains  to  be  recognized  the  truth  that  there  is  a  moral  precocity 
which  is  also  detrimental.  Our  higher  moral  faculties,  like  our  higher  intellectual 
ones,  are  comparatively  complex.  By  consequence  they  are  both  comparatively 
late  in  their  evolution.  And  with  the  one  as  with  the  other,  a  very  early 
activity  produced  by  stimulation  will  be  at  the  expense  of  the  future  character. 
Hence  the  not  uncommon  fact  that  those  who  during  childhood  were  instanced 
as  models  of  juvenile  goodness,  by-and-by  undergo  some  disastrous  and 
seemingly  inexj)licable  change,  and  end  by  being  not  above  but  below  par; 
while  relatively  exemplary  men  are  often  the  issue  of  a  childhood  by  no  means 
so  promising. 

Be  content,  tlierefore,  with  moderate  measures  and  moderate  results  Con- 
stantly bear  in  mind  the  fact  that  a  higher  morality,  like  a  higher  intelligence, 


> 


SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION.  369 

must  be  reached  by  a  slow  growth ;  and  you  will  then  have  more  patience  with 
those  imperfections  of  nature  which  your  Child  hourly  displays.  Tou  will  be 
less  prone  to  that  constant  scolding,  and  threatening,  and  forbidding,  by  which 
many  parents  induce  a  chronic  domestic  irritation,  in  the  foolish  hope  that  they 
will  thus  make  their  children  what  they  should  be. 

INFLUENCE  OF  THE  LAW  OF  NATURAL  REACTION  ON  PARENTS. 

9.  By  aiming  in  all  cases  to  administer  the  natural  reactions  to  your  child's 
actions,  you  will  put  an  advantageous  check  upon  your  own  temper.  The 
method  of  moral  education  pursued  by  many,  we  fear  by  most,  parents,  is  little 
else  than  that  of  venting  their  anger  in  the  way  that  first  suggests  itself.  The 
slaps,  and  rough  shakings,  and  sliarp  words,  with  which  a  mother  commonly 
visits  her  offspring's  small  offenses  (many  of  them  not  offenses  considered  in- 
trinsically,) are  very  generally  but  the  manifestations  of  her  own  ill-controlled 
feelings — result  much  more  from  the  promptings  of  those  feelings  than  from  a 
wish  to  benefit  the  offenders.  While  they  are  injurious  to  her  own  character, 
these  ebulhtions  tend,  by  alienating  her  children  and  by  decreasing  their  respect 
for  her,  to  diminish  her  influence  over  them.  But  by  pausing  in  each  case  of 
transgression  to  consider  what  is  the  natural  consequence,  and  how  that  natural 
consequence  may  best  be  brought  home  to  the  transgressor,  some  little  time  is 
necessarily  obtained  for  the  mastery  of  yourself;  the  mere  blind  anger  first 
aroused  in  you  settles  down  into  a  less  vehement  feehng,  and  one  not  so  likely 
to  mislead  you. 

BE   SPARING   OF   COMMANDS. 

10.  Be  sparing  of  commands.  Command  only  in  those  cases  in  which  other 
means  are  inapphcable,  or  have  failed.  "  In  frequent  orders  the  parents'  ad- 
vantage is  more  considered  than  the  child's,"  says  Richter.  As  in  primitive 
societies  a  breach  of  law  is  punished,  not  so  much  because  it  is  intrinsically 
wrong  as  because  it  is  a  disregard  of  the  king's  authority — a  rebellion  against 
him ;  so  in  many  families,  the  penalty  visited  on  a  transgressor  proceeds  less 
from  reprobation  of  the  offense  than  from  anger  at  the  disobedience.  Listen  to 
the  ordinary  speeches — "How  dare  you  disobey  me?"  "I  tell  you  Vll7nake 
you  do  it,  sir."  "I'll  soon  teach  you  who  is  master" — and  then  consider  what 
the  words,  the  tone,  and  the  manner  imply.  A  determination  to  subjugate  is 
much  more  conspicuous  in  them  than  an  anxiety  for  the  child's  welfare.  For 
the  time  being  the  attitude  of  mind  differs  but  little  from  that  of  the  despot 
bent  on  punishing  a  recalcitrant  subject.  The  right-feeling  parent,  however, 
like  the  philanthropic  legislator,  will  not  rejoice  in  coercion,  but  will  rejoice  iu 
dispensing  with  coercion.  He  will  do  without  law  in  all  cases  where  other 
modes  of  regulating  conduct  can  be  successfully  employed ;  and  he  will  regret 
the  having  recourse  to  law  when  it  is  necessary.  As  Richter  remarks — "The 
best  rule  iu  pohtics  is  said  to  be  'pas  trop  gouverner:^  it  is  also  true  in  educa- 
tion." And  in  spontaneous  conformity  with  this  maxim,  parents  whose  lust  of 
dominion  is  restrained  by  a  true  sense  of  duty,  will  aim  to  make  their  children 
control  themselves  wherever  it  is  possible,  and  will  fall  back  upon  absolutism 
only  as  a  last  resort. 

COMMAND   WITH   DECISION   AND   CONSISTENCY. 

11.  "Whenever  you  do  command,  command  with  decision  and  consistency. 
If  the  case  is  one  which  really  can  not  be  otherwise  dealt  with,  then  issue  your 
fiat,  and  having  issued  it,  never  afterwards  swerve  from  it.     Consider  well 

24 


370  SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION. 

beforehand  what  you  are  going  to  do ;  weigh  all  the  consequences ;  think 
whether  your  firmness  of  purpose  will  be  sufficient ;  and  then,  if  you  finally 
make  the  law,  enforce  it  uniformly  at  whatever  cost.  Let  your  penalties  be 
like  the  penalties  inflicted  by  inanimate  nature — inevitable.  The  hot  cinder 
burns  a  child  the  first  time  he  seizes  it ;  it  bums  him  the  second  time ;  it  burns 
him  the  third  time;  it  burns  him  every  time;  and  he  very  soon  learns  not  to 
touch  the  hot  cinder.  If  you  are  equally  consistent — if  the  consequences 
which  you  tell  your  child  will  follow  certain  acts,  follow  with  like  uniformitj', 
he  will  soon  come  to  respect  your  laws  as  he  does  those  of  Xature.  And  this 
respect  once  established  will  prevent  endless  domestic  evils.  Of  errors  in 
education  one  of  the  worst  is  that  oi  inconsistency.  As  in  a  community, 
crimes  multiply  when  there  is  no  certain  administration  of  justice ;  so  in  a 
family,  an  immense  increase  of  transgressions  results  from  a  hesitating  or 
irregular  infliction  of  penalties.  A  weak  mother,  who  perpetually  threatens 
and  rarely  performs — who  makes  rules  in  haste  and  repents  of  them  at  leisure — 
who  treats  the  same  offense  now  with  severity  and  now  with  leniency,  accord- 
ing as  the  passing  humor  dictates,  is  laying  up  miseries  both  for  herself  and  her 
children.  She  is  making  herself  contemptible  in  their  eyes;  she  is  setting  them 
an  example  of  uncontrolled  feelings ;  she  is  encouraging  them  to  transgress  by 
the  prospect  of  probable  impunity ;  she  is  entailing  endless  squabbles  and  ac- 
companying damage  to  her  own  temper  and  the  tempers  of  her  httle  ones ;  she 
is  reducing  their  minds  to  a  moral  chaos,  which  after-3'ears  of  bitter  experience 
will  with  difBculty  bring  into  order.  Better  even  a  barbarous  form  of  domestic 
government  carried  out  consistently,  than  a  humane  one  inconsistently  carried 
out.  Again  we  say,  avoid  coercive  measures  whenever  it  is  possible  to  do  so ; 
but  when  you  find  despotism  really  necessary,  be  despotic  in  good  earnest. 

THE    AIM   OF   DISCIPLINE   SHOULD   BE   SELF-GOVERNTIENT. 

12.  Bear  constantly  in  mind  the  truth  that  the  aim  of  your  discipline  should 
be  to  produce  a  self-governing  being ;  not  to  produce  a  being  to  be  governed  by 
others.  Were  your  children  fated  to  pass  their  lives  as  slaves,  you  could  not  too 
much  accustom  them  to  slavery  during  their  childhood ;  but  as  they  are  by-and- 
by  to  be  free  men,  with  no  one  to  control  their  daily  conduct,  you  can  not  too 
much  accustom  them  to  self-control  while  they  are  still  under  your  eye.  This 
it  is  which  makes  the  system  of  discipline  by  natural  consequences,  so  especially 
appropriate  to  the  social  state  which  we  in  England  have  now  reached.  Under 
early,  tyrannical  forms  of  society,  when  one  of  the  chief  evils  the  citizen  had  to 
fear  was  the  anger  of  his  superiors,  it  was  well  that  during  cliildhood  parental 
vengeance  should  be  a  predominant  means  of  government.  But  now  that  the 
citizen  has  little  to  fear  from  any  one — now  that  the  good  or  evil  which  he  ex- 
periences throughout  hfe  is  mainly  that  which  in  the  nature  of  things  results 
from  his  own  conduct,  it  is  desirable  that  from  his  first  years  he  should  begin  to 
learn,  experimentally,  the  good  or  evil  consequences  which  naturally  follow  this 
or  that  conduct.  Aim,  therefore,  to  diminish  the  amount  of  parental  govern- 
ment as  fast  as  you  can  substitute  for  it  in  your  child's  mind  that  self-govern- 
ment arising  from  a  foresight  of  results.  In  infancy  a  considerable  amount  of 
absolutism  is  necessary.  A  three-year  old  urchin  playing  with  an  open  razor, 
can  not  be  allowed  to  learn  by  this  discipline  of  consequences;  for  the  conse- 
quences may,  in  such  a  case,  be  too  serious.  But  as  intelligence  increases,  tha 
aumber  of  instances  calling  for  peremptory  interference  may  be,  and  should  be, 


SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION.  3I71 

diminished ;  with  the  view  of  gradually  ending  them  as  maturity  is  approached. 
All  periods  of  transition  are  dangerous ;  and  the  most  dangerous  is  the  transi- 
tion from  the  restraint  of  the  family  circle  to  the  non-restraint  of  the  world. 
Hence  the  importance  of  pursuing  the  policy  we  advocate ;  which,  alike  by 
cultivating  a  child's  faculty  of  self-restraint,  by  continually  increasing  the  degree 
in  which  it  is  left  to  its  self-constraint,  and  by  so  bringing  it,  step  by  step,  to  a 
state  of  unaided  self  restraint,  obliterates  the  ordinary  sudden  and  hazardous 
change  from  externally-governed  youth  to  internally  governed  maturity. 

RIGHT   GOVERNMENT   COMPLEX   AND   DIFFICULT. 

13.  Remember  that  to  educate  rightly  is  not  a  simple  and  easy  thing,  but  a 
complex  and  extremely  difficult  thing:  the  hardest  task  which  devolves  upon 
adult  life.  The  rough  and  ready  style  of  domestic  government  is  indeed  prac- 
ticable by  the  meanest  and  most  uncultivated  intellects.  Slaps  and  sharp  words 
are  penalties  that  suggest  themselves  alike  to  the  least  reclaimed  barbarian  and 
the  most  stolid  peasant.  Even  brutes  can  use  this  method  of  discipline ;  as  you 
may  see  in  the  growl  and  half-bite  with  which  a  bitch  will  check  a  too-exigent 
puppy.  But  if  you  would  carry  out  with  success  a  rational  and  civilized  sys- 
tem, you  must  be  prepared  for  considerable  mental  exertion — for  some  study, 
some  ingenuity,  some  patience,  some  self-control.  You  will  have  habitually  to 
trace  the  consequences  of  conduct — to  consider  what  are  the  results  which  in 
adult  life  follow  certain  kind  of  acts ;  and  then  you  will  have  to  devise  methods 
by  which  parallel  results  shall  be  entailed  on  the  parallel  acts  of  your  children. 
You  will  daily  be  called  upon  to  analyze  the  motives  of  juvenile  conduct :  you 
must  distinguish  between  acts  that  are  really  good  and  those  which,  though  ex- 
ternally simulating  them,  proceed  from  inferior  impulses ;  while  you  must  be 
ever  on  your  guard  against  the  cruel  mistake  not  unfrequently  made,  of  trans- 
lating neutral  acts  into  transgressions,  or  ascribing  worse  feelings  than  were  en- 
tertained. You  must  more  or  less  modify  your  method  to  suit  the  disposition 
of  each  child ;  and  must  be  prepared  to  make  further  modifications  as  each 
child's  disposition  enters  on  a  new  phase.  Your  faith  will  often  be  taxed  to 
maintain  the  requisite  perseverance  in  a  course  which  seems  to  produce  little  or 
no  effect.  Especially  if  you  are  dealing  with  children  who  have  been  wrongly 
treated,  you  must  be  prepared  for  a  lengthened  trial  of  patience  before  succeed- 
ing with  better  methods ;  seeing  that  that  which  is  not  easy  even  where  a  right 
state  of  feeling  has  been  established  from  the  beginning,  becomes  doubly  diffi- 
cult when  a  wrong  state  of  feeling  has  to  be  set  right.  Not  only  will  you  have 
constantly  to  analyze  the  motives  of  your  children,  but  you  will  have  to  analyze 
your  own  motives — to  discriminate  between  those  internal  suggestions  spring- 
ing from  a  true  parental  solicitude,  and  those  which  spring  from  your  own 
selfishness,  from  your  love  of  ease,  from  your  lust  of  dominion.  And  then, 
more  trying  still,  you  will  have  not  only  to  detect,  but  to  curb  these  baser  im- 
pulses. In  brief,  you  will  have  to  carry  on  your  higher  education  at  the  same 
time  that  you  are  educating  your  children.  Intellectually  you  must  cultivate 
to  good  purpose  that  most  complex  of  subjects — human  nature  and  its  laws,  as 
exhibited  in  your  children,  in  yourself,  and  in  the  world.  Morally,  you  must 
keep  in  constant  exercise  your  higher  feelings,  and  restrain  your  lower.  It  is  a 
truth  j'et  remaining  to  be  recognized,  that  the  last  stage  in  the  mental  develop- 
ment of  each  man  and  woman  is  to  be  reached  only  through  the  proper  dis- 
charge of  the  parental  duties.     And  when  this  truth  is  recognized,  it  wUl  be 


372  SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION. 

seen  how  admirable  is  the  ordination  in  virtue  of  wliich  human -beings  are  led 
by  their  strongest  aflections  to  subject  themselves  to  a  discipline  which  they 
would  else  elude. 

While  some  will  probably  regard  this  conception  of  education  as  it  should  be, 
with  doubt  and  discouragement,  others  will,  we  think,  perceive  in  the  exalted 
ideal  which  it  involves,  evidence  of  its  truth.  That  it  can  not  be  realized  by 
the  impulsive,  the  unsympathetic,  and  the  short-sighted,  but  demands  the 
higher  attributes  of  human  nature,  they  will  see  to  be  evidence  of  its  fitness  for 
the  more  advanced  states  of  humanitj'.  Though  it  calls  for  much  labor  and 
self-sacrifice,  they  will  see  that  it  promises  an  abundant  return  of  happiness, 
immediate  and  remote.  They  will  see  that  while  in  its  injurious  cflects  on  both 
parent  and  child  a  bad  sj-stem  is  twice  cursed,  a  good  sj'stem  is  twi'ce  blessed — 
it  blesses  him  that  trains  and  him  that's  trained. 

m.    INTELLECTUAL  EDUCATION  AND  STUDIES. 

DESIRE   OF   OLD    METHODS. 

1 .  The  suppression  of  every  error  is  commonly  followed  by  a  temporary 
ascendency  of  the  contrary  one ;  and  it  so  happened,  that  after  the  ages  when 
physical  development  alone  was  aimed  at,  there  came  an  age  when  culture  of 
the  mind  was  the  sole  sohcitude — when  children  had  lesson-books  put  before 
them  at  between  two  and  three  years  old — when  school-hours  were  protracted, 
and  the  getting  of  knowledge  was  thought  the  one  thing  needful.  As,  further,  it 
usually  happens,  that  after  one  of  these  reactions  the  next  advance  is  achieved 
by  co-ordinating  the  antagonist  errors,  and  perceiving  that  they  are  opposite 
sides  of  one  truth ;  so  we  are  now  coming  to  the  conviction  that  body  and 
mind  must  both  be  cared  for,  and  the  whole  being  unfolded.  The  forcing  sys- 
tem has  been  in  great  measure  given  up,  and  precocity  is  discouraged.  People 
are  beginning  to  see  that  the  first  requisite  to  success  in  life,  is  to  be  a  good 
animal.  The  best  brain  is  found  of  little  service,  if  there  be  not  enough  vital 
energy  to  work  it ;  and  hence  to  obtain  the  one  by  sacrificing  the  source  of  the 
other,  is  now  considered  a  folly — a  foUy  which  the  eventual  failure  of  juvenile 
prodigies  constantly  illustrates.  Thus  we  are  discovering  the  wisdom  of  the 
saying,  that  one  secret  in  education  is  "  to  know  how  wisely  to  lose  time." 

The  once  universal  practice  of  learning  by  rote,  is  daily  falling  more  into  dis- 
credit. All  modern  authorities  condemn  the  old  mechanical  way  of  teaching 
the  alphabet.  The  multiplication  table  is  now  frequently  taught  experimentally. 
In  the  acquirement  of  languages,  the  grammar-school  plan  is  being  superseded 
by  plans  based  on  the  spontaneous  process  followed  by  the  child  in  gaining  its 
mother  tongue. 

Along  with  rote-teaching,  is  declining  also  the  nearly  allied  teaching  by  rules. 
The  particulars  first,  and  then  the  generalization,  is  the  new  method — a  method, 
as  the  Battersea  School  Reports  remark,  which,  though  "the  reverse  of  the 
method  usually  followed  which  consists  in  giving  the  pupil  the  rule  first,"  is  yet 
proved  by  experience  to  be  the  right  one.  Rule-teaching  is  now  condemned  as 
imparting  a  merelj'  empirical  knowledge — as  producing  an  appearance  of  under- 
Btanding  without  the  reality.  To  give  the  net  product  of  inquiry,  without  tho 
inquiry  that  leads  to  it,  is  found  to  be  both  enervating  and  inefiicient.  General 
truths  to  be  of  due  and  permanent  use,  must  be  earned.  "  Easy  come  easy  go," 
is  a  saying  as  applicable  to  knowledge  as  to  wealth.     While  rules,  lying  isolated 


SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION.  3-^3 

in  the  mind — not  joined  to  its  other  contents  as  outgrowths  from  them — are 
continually  forgotten,  the  principles  which  those  rules  express  piecemeal,  be- 
come, when  once  reached  by  the  understanding,  enduring  possessions.  While 
the  rule-taught  youth  is  at  sea  when  beyond  his  rules,  the  youth  instructed  in 
principles  solves  a  new  case  as  readily  as  an  old  one.  Between  a  mind  of  rules 
and  a  mind  of  principles,  there  exists  a  diflerence  such  as  that  between  a  con- 
fused heap  of  materials,  and  the  same  materials  organized  into  a  complete  whole, 
with  all  its  parts  bound  together.  Of  which  types  this  last  has  not  only  the 
advantage  that  its  constituent  parts  are  better  retained,  but  the  much  greater 
advantage,  that  it  forms  an  efiScient  agent  for  inquiry,  for  independent  thought, 
for  discovery — ends  for  which  the  first  is  useless.  Nor  let  it  be  supposed  that 
this  is  a  simile  only :  it  is  the  Uteral  truth.  The  union  of  facts  into  generaliza- 
tions is  the  organization  of  knowledge,  whether  considered  as  an  objective 
phenomenon,  or  a  subjective  one :  and  the  mental  grasp  may  be  measured  by 
the  extent  to  which  this  organization  is  carried. 

From  the  substitution  of  principles  for  rules,  and  the  necessarily  co-ordinate 
practice  of  leaving  abstractions  untaught  unth  the  mind  has  been  famhiarized 
with  the  facts  from  which  they  are  abstracted,  has  resulted  the  postponement 
of  some  once  early  studies  to  a  late  period.  This  is  exemphfied  in  the  abandon- 
ment of  that  intensely  stupid  custom,  the  teaching  of  grammar  to  children.  As 
M.  Marcel  says: — "It  may  without  hesitation  be  affirmed  that  grammar  is  not 
the  stepping-stone,  but  the  finishing  instrument."  As  Mr.  Wyse  argues: — 
"  Grammar  and  Syntax  are  a  collection  of  laws  and  rules.  Rules  are  gathered 
from  practice ;  they  are  the  results  of  induction  to  which  we  come  by  long 
observation  and  comparison  of  facts. 

INTRODUCTION  OF   NEW   METHOD. 

2.  After  long  ages  of  blindness  men  are  at  last  seeing  that  the  spontaneous 
activity  of  the  observing  faculties  in  children  has  a  meaning  and  a  use.  What 
was  once  thought  mere  purposeless  action,  or  play,  or  mischiefj  as  the  case 
might  be,  is  now  recognized  as  the  process  of  acquiring  a  knowledge  on  which 
all  after-knowledge  is  based.  Hence  the  well-conceived  but  ill-conducted  system 
of  ohjectrlessons.  The  saying  of  Bacon,  that,  physics  is  the  mother  of  sciences, 
has  come  to  have  a  meaning  in  education.  Without  an  accurate  acquaintance 
with  the  visible  and  tangible  properties  of  thing?,  our  conceptions  must  be 
erroneous,  our  inferences  fallacious,  and  our  operations  unsuccessful.  "The 
education  of  the  senses  neglected,  all  after  education  partakes  of  a  drowsiness, 
a  haziness,  an  insufficiency  which  it  is  impossible  to  cure," 

While  the  old  method  of  presenting  truths  in  the  abstract  has  been  foiling 
out  of  use,  there  has  been  a  corresponding  adoption  of  the  new  method  of  pre- 
senting them  in  the  concrete.  The  rudimentary  facts  of  exact  science  are  now 
being  learnt  by  direct  intuition,  as  textures,  and  tastes,  and  colors  are  learnt. 
Employing  the  ball-frame  for  first  lessons  in  arithmetic  exemplifies  this.  It  is 
well  illustrated,  too,  in  Professor  De  Morgan's  mode  of  explaining  the  decimal 
notation.  M.  Marcel,  rightly  repudiating  the  old  system  of  tables,  teaches 
weights  and  measures  by  referring  to  the  actual  yard  and  foot,  pound  and  ounce, 
gallon  and  quart ;  and  lets  the  discovery  of  their  relationships  be  experimental. 
The  use  of  geographical  models  and  models  of  the  regular  bodies,  &c.,  as  intro- 
ductory to  geography  and  geometry  respectively,  are  facts  of  the  same  class. 
Manifestly  a  common  trait  of  these  methods  is,  that  they  carry  each  chOd's 


374  SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION. 

mind  through  a  process  like  that  which  the  mind  of  humanity  at  large  has  gono 
tlirough.  Tho  truths  of  number,  of  form,  of  relationship  in  position,  were  all 
originally  drawn  from  objects ;  and  to  present  these  truths  to  the  child  in  the 
concrete  is  to  let  him  learn  them  as  the  race  learnt  them.  By-and-by,  perhaps, 
it  will  be  seen  that  he  can  not  possibly  learn  them  in  any  other  way ;  for  that 
if  he  is  made  to  repeat  them  as  abstractions,  the  abstractions  can  have  no  mean- 
ing for  him,  until  he  finds  that  they  are  simply  statements  of  what  he  intuitively 
discerns. 

But  of  all  the  changes  taking  place,  the  most  significant  is  the  growing  desire 
to  make  the  acquirement  of  knowledge  pleasurable  rather  than  painful — a  de- 
sire based  on  the  more  or  less  distinct  perception  that  at  each  ago  the  intellectual 
action  wliich  a  child  likes  is  a  healthful  one  for  it ;  and  conversely.  There  is  a 
spreacUug  opinion  that  the  rise  of  an  appetite  for  any  kind  of  knowledge  im- 
plies that  the  unfolding  mind  has  become  fit  to  assimilate  it,  and  needs  it  for  the 
purposes  of  growth ;  and  that  on  the  other  hand,  the  disgust  felt  towards  any 
kind  of  knowledge  is  a  sign  either  that  it  is  prematurely  presented,  or  that 
it  is  presented  in  an  indigestible  form.  Hence  the  efforts  to  make  early 
education  amusing,  and  all  education  interesting.  Hence  the  lectures  on 
the  value  of  play.  Hence  the  defense  of  nursery  rhymes,  and  fairy  tales. 
Daily  we  more  and  more  conform  our  plans  to  juvenile  opinion.  Does  the 
child  hke  this  or  that  kind  of  teaching?  does  he  take  to  it?  we  constantly 
ask.  "His  natural  desire  of  variety  should  be  indulged,"  says  M.  Marcel; 
"and  the  gratification  of  his  curiosity  should  be  combined  with  his  im- 
provement." "Lessons,"  he  again  remarks,  "should  cease  before  the  child 
evinces  symptoms  of  weariness."  And  so  with  later  education.  Short  breaks 
during  school-hours,  excursions  into  the  country,  amusing  lectures,  choral 
songs — in  these  and  many  like  traits,  the  change  may  be  discerned.  Asceticism 
is  disappearing  out  of  education  as  out  of  life ;  and  the  usual  test  of  pohtical 
legislation — its  tendency  to  promote  happiness — is  beginning  to  be,  in  a  great 
degree,  the  test  of  legislation  for  the  school  and  the  nurscrj'. 

THE  ORDER  AND  METHOD  OF  NATURE  TO  BE  FOLLOWED. 

3.  There  is  a  certain  sequence  in  which  the  faculties  spontaneously  develop, 
and  a  certain  kind  of  knowledge  which  each  requires  during  its  development; 
and  that  it  is  for  us  to  ascertain  this  sequence,  and  supply  this  knowledge.  A 
nebulous  perception  of  it  now  prevails  among  teachers ;  and  it  is  daily  more  in- 
S'sted  on  in  educational  works.  "  The  method  of  nature  is  the  archetj-pe  of  all 
methods,"  says  M.  Marcel.  "The  vital  principle  in  the  pursuit  is  to  enable  the 
pupil  rightly  to  instruct  himself,"  writes  Mr.  Wyse.  The  more  science  familiar- 
izes us  with  the  constitution  of  things  the  more  do  we  see  in  them  an  inherent 
self-sufScingness.  A  higher  knowledge  tends  continually  to  limit  our  inter- 
ference with  the  processes  of  life.  As  in  medicine  the  old  "heroic  treatment" 
has  given  place  to  mQd  treatment,  and  often  no  treatment  save  a  normal  re- 
gimen— as  we  have  found  that  it  is  not  needful  to  mould  the  bodies  of  babes  by 
bandaging  them  in  papoose  fashion  or  otherwise — as  in  gaols  it  is  being  dis- 
covered that  no  cunningly  devised  discipline  of  ours  is  so  efficient  in  producing 
reformation  as  the  natural  discipline,  the  making  prisoners  maintain  themselves 
by  productive  labor;  so  in  education  we  are  finding  that  success  is  to  be 
achieved  only  by  rendering  our  measures  subservient  to  that  spontaneous  unfold- 
ing which  all  minds  go  through  in  their  progress  to  maturity. 


SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION.  375 

GUIDING  PRINCIPLES  OP  EDUCATION. 

4.  Though  it  is  not  possible  for  a  scheme  of  culture  to  be  perfected  either  in 
matter  or  form  untQ  a  rational  Psychology  has  been  estabhsbed,  it  is  possible, 
with  the  aid  of  certain  guiding  principles,  to  make  empirical  approximations 
towards  a  perfect  scheme.  To  prepare  the  way  for  further  research  we  will 
now  specify  these  principles; — 

(1.)  That  in  education  we  should  proceed  from  the  simple  to  the  complex  is  a 
truth  which  has  always  been  to  some  extent  acted  upon ;  not  professedly,  in- 
deed, nor  by  any  means  consistently.  The  mind  grows.  Like  all  things  that 
grow  it  progresses  from  the  homogeneous  to  the  heterogeneous ;  and  a  normal 
training  system  being  an  objective  counterpart  of  this  subjective  process,  must 
exhibit  the  like  progression.  Moreover,  regarding  it  from  this  point  of  view, 
we  may  see  that  this  formula  has  much  wider  applications  than  at  first  appears. 
Por  its  rationale  involves  not  only  that  we  should  proceed  from  the  single  to  the 
combined  in  the  teaching  of  each  branch  of  knowledge ;  but  that  we  should  do 
the  Uke  with  knowledge  as  a  whole.  As  the  mind,  consisting  at  first  of  but 
few  active  faculties;  has  its  later-completed  faculties  successively  awakened, 
and  ultimately  comes  to  have  all  its  faculties  in  simultaneous  action ;  it  follows 
that  our  teaching  should  begin  with  but  few  subjects  at  once,  and  successively 
adding  to  these,  should  finally  carry  on  all  subjects  abreast — that  not  only  in  its 
details  should  education  proceed  from  the  simple  to  the  complex,  but  in  its 
ensemble  also. 

(2.)  To  say  that  our  lessons  ought  to  start  from  the  concrete  and  end  in  the 
abstract,  may  be  considered  as  in  pgrt  a  repetition  of  the  foregoing.  Nevethe- 
less  it  is  a  maxim  that  needs  to  be  stated :  if  with  no  other  view,  then  with  the 
view  of  showing  in  certain  cases  what  are  truly  the  simple  and  the  complex. 
For  unfortunately  there  has  been  much  misunderstanding  on  this  point.  Gen- 
eral formulas  which  men  have  devised  to  express  groups  of  details,  and  which 
have  severally  simplified  their  conceptions  by  uniting  many  facts  into  one  fact, 
they  have  supposed  must  simplify  the  conceptions  of  the  child  also:  quite 
forgetting  that  a  generalization  is  simple  only  in  comparison  with  the  whole 
mass  of  particular  truths  it  comprehends — that  it  is  more  complex  than  any  one 
of  these  truths  taken  singly — that  only  after  many  of  these  single  truths  have 
been  acquired  does  the  generalization  ease  the  memory  and  help  the  reason — 
and  that  to  the  child  not  possessing  these  single  truths  it  is  necessarily  a  mys- 
tery. Thus  confounding  two  kinds  of  simplification,  teachers  have  constantly 
erred  by  setting  out  with  "first  principles:"  a  proceeding  essentially,  though 
not  apparently,  at  variance  with  the  primary  rule ;  which  implies  that  the  mind 
should  be  introduced  to  principles  through  the  medium  of  examples,  and  so 
should  be  led  from  the  particular  to  the  general — from  the  concrete  to  the 
abstract. 

(3.)  The  education  of  the  child  must  accord  both  in  mode  and  arrangement 
with  the  education  of  mankind  as  considered  historically ;  or  in  other  words, 
the  genesis  of  knowledge  in  the  individual  must  follow  the  same  course  as  the 
genesis  of  knowledge  in  the  race. 

It  is  alike  provable  that  the  historical  sequence  was,  in  its  main  outlines,  a 
necessary  one  ;  and  that  the  causes  which  determined  it  apply  to  the  child  as  to 
the  race.  Not  to  specify  these  causes  in  detail,  it  will  suffice  here  to  point  out 
that  as  the  mind  of  humanity  placed  in  the  midst  of  phenomena  and  .striving  to 


376 


SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION. 


compreLend  thcni,  has,  after  endless  comparisons,  speculations,  experiments, 
and  theories,  reached  its  present  knowledge  of  each  subject  by  a  specific  route ; 
it  may  rationally  be  inferred  tliat  the  relationship  between  mind  and  phenomena 
is  such  as  to  prevent  this  knowledge  from  being  reached  by  any  other  route ; 
and  that  as  each  child's  mind  stands  in  this  same  relationship  to  phenomena, 
they  can  be  accessible  to  it  only  through  the  same  route.  Hence  in  deciding 
upon  the  right  method  of  education,  an  inquiry  into  the  method  of  civOization 
will  help  to  guide  us. 

(4.)  One  of  the  conclusions  to  which  such  an  inquiry  leads  is,  that  in  each 
branch  of  instruction  we  should  proceed  from  the  empirical  to  the  rational.  A 
leading  fact  in  human  progress  is,  that  every  science  is  evolved  out  of  its  cor- 
responding art.  It  results  from  the  necessity  we  are  under,  both  individually 
and  as  a  race,  of  reaching  the  abstract  by  way  of  the  concrete,  that  there  must 
be  practice  and  an  accruing  experience  with  its  empirical  generalizations,  before 
there  can  be  science.  Science  is  organized  knowledge ;  and  before  knowledge 
can  be  organized,  some  of  it  must  first  be  possessed.  Every  study,  therefore, 
should  have  a  purely  experimental  introduction ;  and  only  after  an  ample  fund 
of  observations  has  been  accumulated,  sliould  reasoning  begin.  As  illustrative 
applications  of  this  rule,  we  may  instance  the  modern  course  of  placing  gram- 
mar, not  before  language,  but  after  it ;  or  the  ordinary  custom  of  prefacing  per- 
spective by  practical  drawing.  By-and-by  further  applications  of  it  will  be 
indicated. 

(5.)  A  second  corollary  from  the  foregoing  general  principle,  and  one  which 
can  not  be  too  strenuously  insisted  upon,  is,  that  in  education  the  process  of 
self-development  should  be  encouraged  to  the  fullest  extent.  Children  should 
be  led  to  make  their  own  investigations,  and  to  draw  their  own  inferences. 
They  should  be  iuld  as  little  as  possible,  and  induced  to  discover  as  much  as 
possible.  Humanity  has  progressed  solely  by  self-instruction ; '  and  that  to 
achieve  the  best  results,  each  mind  must  progress  somewhat  after  the  same 
fashion,  is  continually  proved  by  the  marked  success  of  self-made  men.  Those 
who  have  been  brought  up  under  the  ordinary  school-drill,  and  have  carried 
away  with  them  the  idea  that  education  is  practicable  only  in  that  style,  will 
think  it  hopeless  to  make  children  their  own  teachers.  Ifj  however,  they  will 
call  to  mind  that  the  all-important  knowledge  of  surrounding  objects  which  a 
child  gets  in  its  early  years  is  got  without  help — if  they  will  remember  that  the 
child  is  self-taught  in  the  use  of  its  mother  tongue — if  they  will  estimate  the 
amount  of  that  experience  of  life,  that  out-of-school  wisdom,  which  every  boy 
gathers  for  himseli^ — if  they  will  mark  the  unusual  intelligence  of  the  uncared- 
for  London  gamin,  as  shown  in  all  the  directions  in  which  his  faculties  have 
been  tasked — if  further,  they  will  think  how  many  minds  have  struggled  up 
unaided,  not  only  through  the  mysteries  of  our  irrationally-planned  curriculum, 
but  through  hosts  of  other  obstacles  besides ;  they  will  find  it  a  not  unreason- 
able conclusion,  that  if  the  subjects  bo  put  before  him  in  right  order  and  right 
form,  any  pupil  of  ordinary  capacity  will  surmount  his  successive  difficulties 
with  but  little  assistance.  Who  indeed  can  watch  the  ceaseless  observation,  and 
inquiry,  and  inference  going  on  in  a  child's  mind,  or  hsten  to  its  acute  remarks 
on  matters  within  the  range  of  its  faculties,  without  perceiving  that  these 
powers  which  it  manifests,  if  brought  to  bear  systematically  upon  any  studies 
within  the  sanne  range,  would  readily  master  them  without  help? 

(G.)  As  a  final  test  by  which  to  judge  any  phin  of  culture,  should  come  the 


SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION. 


3V7 


question, — Does  it  create  a  pleasurable  excitement  in  the  pupils?  T\'hen  in 
doubt  whether  a  particular  mode  or  arrangement  is  or  is  not  more  in  harmony 
with  the  foregoing  principles  than  some  other,  we  may  safely  abide  by  this 
criterion.  Even  when,  as  considered  theoretically,  the  proposed  course  seema 
the  best,  yet  if  it  produce  no  interest,  or  less  interest  than  ^another  course,  we 
should  relinquish  it;  for  a  child's  intellectual  instincts  are  more  trustworthy 
than  our  reasonings.  In  respect  to  the  knowing  faculties,  we  may  confidently 
trust  in  the  general  law,  that  under  normal  conditions,  healthful  action  i.s  plea- 
surable, while  action  which  gives  pain  is  not  healthful.  Though  at  present 
very  incompletely  conformed  to  by  the  emotional  nature,  yet  by  the  intellectual 
nature,  or  at  least  by  those  parts  of  it  which  the  child  exhibits,  this  law  is 
almost  wholly  conformed  to.  The  repugnances  to  this  and  that  study  which 
vex  the  ordinary  teacher,  are  not  innate,  but  result  from  his  unwise  system. 
Fellenberg  says,  "  Experience  has  taught  me  that  indolence  in  young  persons  is 
so  directly  opposite  to  their  natural  disposition  to  activity,  that  unless  it  is  the 
consequence  of  bad  education,  it  is  almost  invariably  connected  with  some  con- 
stitutional defect."  And  the  spontaneous  activity  to  which  children  are  thus 
prone,  is  simplj^  the  pursuit  of  those  pleasures  which  the  healthful  exercise  of 
the  faculties  gives. 

APPLICATION   OF   PRINCIPLE   TO    PRACTICE. 

5.  It  was  the  opinion  of  Pestalozzi — an  opinion  which  has  ever  since  his  day 
been  gaining  ground — that  education  of  some  kind  should  begin  from  the 
cradle.  Whoever  has  watched  with  any  discernment,  the  wide-ej-ed  gaze  of  the 
infant  at  surrounding  objects,  knows  very  well  that  education  does  begin  thus 
early,  whether  we  intend  it  or  not ;  and  that  these  fingerings  and  suckings  of 
every  thing  it  can  lay  hold  of,  these  open-mouthed  listenings  to  every  sound,  are 
the  first  steps  in  the  series  which  ends  in  the  discovery  of  unseen  planets,  the 
invention  of  calculating  engines,  the  production  of  great  paintings,  or  the  com- 
position of  symphonies  and  operas.  This  activity  of  the  faculties  from  tjie  very 
first  being  spontaneous  and  inevitable,  the  question  is  whether  we  shall  supply 
in  due  variety  the  materials  on  which  they  may  exercise  themselves;  and  to 
the  question  so  put,  none  but  an  affirmative  answer  can  be  given. 

INTUITIONAL   EXERCISE   OF   THE   PERCEPTIONS. 

6.  The  earliest  impressions  which  the  mind  can  assimilate,  are  those  given  to 
it  by  the  undecoraposable  sensations — resistance,  light,  sound,  &c.  Manifestly 
decomposable  states  of  consciousness  can  not  exist  before  the  states  of  con- 
sciousness out  of  which  they  are  composed.  There  can  be  no  idea  of  form  until 
some  familiarity  with  light  in  its  gradations  and  qualities,  or  resistance  in  its 
different  intensities,  has  been  acquired ;  for,  as  has  been  long  known,  we  recog- 
nize visible  form  by  means  of  varieties  of  light,  and  tangible  form  by  means  of 
varieties  of  resistance.  Similarly,  no  articulate  sound  is  cognizable  untQ  the 
inarticulate  sounds  which  go  to  make  it  up  have  been  learned.  And  thus  must 
it  be  in  every  other  case.  Following,  therefore,  the  necessary  law  of  progres- 
sion from  the  simple  to  the  complex,  we  should  provide  for  the  infant  a  suffi- 
ciency of  objects  presenting  different  degrees  and  kinds  of  resistance,  a  sufficiency 
of  objects  reflecting  dififerent  amounts  and  qualities  of  fight,  and  a  sufficiency 
of  sounds  contrasted  in  their  loudness,  their  pitch  and  their  timbre.  How  fully 
this  a  priori  conclusion  is  confirmed  by  infantile  instincts  all  will  see  on  being 


Q>jQ  SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION 

reminded  of  the  delight  which  every  young  child  has  in  biting  its  toys,  in  feel- 
ing iia  brother's  bright  jacket-buttons,  and  pulling  papa's  whiskers — how  ab- 
sorbed it  becomes  in  gazing  at  any  gaudily  painted  object,  to  which  it  applies 
the  word  "pretty,"  when  it  can  pronounce  it,  wholly  in  virtue  of  the  bright 
colors — and  how  its  face  broadens  into  a  laugh  at  the  tattlings  of  its  nurse,  the 
snapping  of  a  visitor's  fingers,  or  any  sound  which  it  has  not  before  heard. 
PortuniUely,  the  ordinary  practices  of  the  nursery  fulfill  these  early  require- 
ments of  education  to  a  considerable  degree.  Much,  however,  remains  to  be 
done ;  and  it  is  of  more  importance  that  it  should  be  done  than  at  first  appears. 
Every  faculty  during  the  period  of  its  greatest  activity — ^the  period  in  which  it 
is  spontaneously  evolving  itself — is  capable  of  receiving  more  vivid  impressiona 
than  at  any  other  period.  Moreover,  as  these  simplest  elements  must  eventu- 
ally be  mastered,  and  as  the  mastery  of  them  whenever  achieved  must  take 
time,  it  becomes  an  economy  of  time  to  occupy  this  first  stage  of  childliood, 
during  which  no  other  intellectual  action  is  possible,  in  gaining  a  complete 
familiarity  with  them  in  all  their  modifications.  Add  to  which,  that  both  tem- 
per and  health  will  be  improved  by  the  continual  gratification  resulting  from  a 
due  supply  of  these  impressions  which  every  child  so  greedily  assimOates. 
Space,  could  it  be  spared,  might  here  be  well  filled  by  some  suggestions 
towards  a  more  systematic  ministration  to  these  simplest  of  the  perceptions. 
But  it  must  suffice  to  point  out  that  any  such  ministration  ought  to  be  based 
upon  the  general  truth  that  in  the  development  of  every  faculty,  markedly  con- 
trasftd  impressions  are  the  first  to  be  distinguished:  that  hence  sounds  greatly 
diflering  in  loudness  and  pitch,  colors  very  remote  from  each  other,  and  sub- 
stances widely  unlike  in  hardness  or  texture,  should  be  the  first  supplied ;  and 
that  in  each  case  the  progression  must  be  by  slow  degrees  to  impressions  more 
nearly  allied. 

OBJECT-LESSONS. 

7.  It  needs  but  a  glance  at  the  daily  life  of  the  infant  to  see  that  all  the 
knowledge  of  things  which  is  gained  before  the  acquirement  of  speech,  is  self- 
gained — that  the  qualities  of  hardness  and  weight  associated  with  certain  visual 
appearances,  the  possession  of  particular  forms  and  colors  by  particular  persons, 
the  production  of  special  sounds  by  animals  of  special  aspects,  are  phenomena 
which  it  observes  for  itself.  In  manhood  too,  when  there  are  no  longer  teach- 
ers at  hand,  the  observations  and  inferences  required  for  daily  guidance,  must 
be  made  unhelpod ;  and  success  in  life  depends  upon  the  accuracy  and  com- 
pleteness with  which  they  are  made.  Is  it  probable  then,  that  while  the  pro- 
cess displayed  in  the  evolution  of  humanity  at  large,  is  repeated  alike  by  the 
infant  and  the  man,  a  reverse  process  must  be  followed  during  the  period 
between  infancy  and  manhood  ?  and  that  too,  even  in  so  simple  a  thing  as 
learning  the  properties  of  objects?  Is  it  not  obvious,  on  the  contrary,  that  one 
method  must  be  pursued  throughout  ?  And  is  not  nature  perpetually  thrusting 
tliis  method  upon  us,  if  we  had  but  the  wit  to  see  it,  and  the  humility  to  adopt 
it  ?  "What  can  be  more  manifest  than  the  desire  of  children  for  intellectual 
sympathy  ?  Mark  how  the  infant  sitting  on  your  knee  thrusts  into  your  face 
the  toy  it  holds,  that  you  too  may  look  at  it.  See  when  it  makes  a  creak  with 
its  wet  finger  on  the  table,  how  it  turns  and  looks  at  you ;  does  it  again,  and 
again  looks  .at  you;  thus  saying  as  clearly  as  it  can — "Hear  this  new  sound." 
Watch  how  the  elder  children  come  into  the  room  exclaiming — "  Mamma,  see 
what  a  curious  thing,"  "Mamma,   look  at  this,"  "Mamma,  look  at  that;"  and 


SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION.  3^9 

would  continue  the  habit,  did  not  the  silly  mamma  tell  them  not  to  tease  her. 
Observe  how,  when  out  with  the  nurse-maid,  each  httle  one  runs  Up  to  her  with 
the  new  flower  it  has  gathered,  to  show  her  how  pretty  it  is,  and  to  get  her 
also,  to  say  it  is  pretty.  Listen  to  the  eager  volubility  with  which  every  urchin 
describes  any  novelty  he  has  been  to  see,  if  only  he  can  find  some  one  who  will 
attend  with  any  interest.  Does  not  the  induction  he  on  the  surface  ?  Is  it  not 
clear  that  we  must  conform  our  course  to  these  intellectual  instincts — that  we 
must  just  systematize  the  natural  process — that  we  must  listen  to  all  the  child 
has  to  tell  us  about  each  object,  must  induce  it  to  say  every  thing  it  can  think 
of  about  such  object,  must  occasionally  draw  its  attention  to  facts  it  has  not  yet 
observed,  with  the  view  of  leading  it  to  notice  them  itself  whenever  they  recur, 
and  must  go  on  by-and-by  to  indicate  or  supply  new  series  of  thmgs  for  a  Jike 
exhaustive  examination  ? 

EXAMPLE  OF  A  MASTER'S   tJNCONSCIOUS  TtTITION  ON  OBJECTS. 

8.  Step  by  step  the  mother  familiarizes  her  little  boy  with  the  names  of  the 
simpler  attributes,  hardness,  softness,  color,  taste,  size,  &c.,  in  doing  which  she 
finds  him  eagerly  help  by  bringing  this  to  show  her  that  it  is  red,  and  the  other 
to  make  her  feel  that  it  is  hard,  as  fast  as  she  gives  him  words  for  these  pro- 
perties. Each  additional  property,  as  she  draws  his  attention  to  it  in  some  fresh 
thing  which  he  brings  her,  she  takes  care  to  mention  in  connection  with  those 
he  already  knows ;  so  that  by  the  natural  tendency  to  imitate,  he  may  get  into 
the  habit  of  repeating  them  one  after  another.  Gradually  as  there  occur  caBe3 
in  which  he  omits  to  name  one  or  more  of  the  properties  he  has  become  ac- 
quainted with,  she  introduces  the  practice  of  asking  him  whether  there  is  not 
something  more  that  he  can  tell  her  about  the  thing  he  has  got.  Probably  he 
does  not  understand.  After  letting  him  puzzle  awhile  she  tells  him;  perhaps 
laughing  at  him  a  little  for  his  failure.  A  few  recurrences  of  this  and  he  per- 
ceives what  is  to  be  done.  When  next  she  says  she  knows  something  more 
about  the  object  than  he  has  told  her,  his  pride  is  roused ;  he  looks  at  it  in- 
tently ;  he  thinks  over  all  that  he  has  heard ;  and  the  problem  being  easy,  pre- 
sently finds  it  out.  He  is  full  of  glee  at  his  success,  and  she  sympathizes  with 
him.  In  common  with  every  child,  he  delights  in  the  discovery  of  his  powers, 
lie  wishes  for  more  victories,  and  goes  in  quest  of  more  things  about  which  to 
tell  her.  As  his  faculties  unfold  she  adds  quality  after  quality  to  his  list :  pro- 
gressing from  hardness  and  softness  to  roughness  and  smoothness,  from  color 
10  polish,  from  simple  bodies  to  composite  ones — thus  constantly  complicating 
the  problem  as  he  gains  competence,  constantly  taxing  his  attention  and  memory 
to  a  greater  extent,  constantly  maintaining  his  interest  by  supplying  him  with 
new  impressions  such  as  his  mind  can  assimilate,  and  constantly  gratifying  him 
by  conquests  over  such  small  difficulties  as  he  can  master.  In  doing  this  she  is 
manifestly  but  foUowing  out  that  spontaneous  process  that  was  going  on  during 
a  still  earlier  period — simply  aiding  self-evolution ;  and  is  aiding  it  in  the  mode 
suggested  by  the  boy's  instinctive  behavior  to  her.  Manifestly,  too,  the  course 
she  is  pursuing  is  the  one  best  calculated  to  establish  a  habit  of  exhaustive  ob- 
servation ;  which  is  the  professed  aim  of  these  lessons.  To  tell  a  child  this  and 
to  show  it  the  other,  is  not  to  teach  it  how  to  observe,  but  to  make  it  a  mere 
lecipieut  of  another's  oVjservations :  a  proceeding  which  weakens  rather  than 
stiengtheus  it  powers  of  self-instruction — which  deprives  it  of  the  pleasures  ro- 
sulfng  from  successful  activity — which  presents  this  all-attractive  knowledge 


380  SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION. 

under  the  aspect  of  formal  tuition — and  which  thus  generates  that  indifference 
and  even  disgust  with  which  tliesc  object-lessons  are  not  unfrcfjuently  regarded. 
On  the  other  hand,  to  pursue  the  course  above  described  is  simplj'  to  guide  the 
intellect  to  its  appropriate  food ;  to  join  with  the  intellectual  appetites  their 
natural  adjuncts — amour propre  and  the  desire  for  sympathy;  to  induce  by  the 
union  of  all  these  an  intensity  of  attention  which  insures  perceptions  alike  vivid 
and  complete ;  and  to  habituate  the  mind  from  the  beginning  to  that  practice  of 
self-help  which  it  must  ultimately  follow. 

EXTENSION  OP  THE  FIELD  OP  OBJECT-TEACHING. 
9.  Object-lessons  should  not  only  be  carried  on  after  quite  a  different  fashion 
from  that  commonly  pursued,  but  should  be  extended  to  a  range  of  things  far 
wnder,  and  continue  to  a  period  far  later,  than  now.  They  should  not  be 
limited  to  the  contents  of  the  house ;  but  should  include  those  of  the  fields  and 
the  hedges,  the  quarry  and  the  sea-shore.  They  should  not  cease  with  early 
childhood ;  but  should  be  so  kept  up  during  youth  as  insensibly  to  merge  into 
the  investigations  of  the  naturalist  and  the  man  of  science.  Here  again  we 
have  but  to  follow  nature's  leadings.  "Where  can  be  seen  an  intenser  dehght 
than  that  of  children  picking  up  new  flowers  and  watching  new  insects,  or 
hoarding  pebbles  and  shells?  And  who  is  there  but  perceives  that  by  sympa- 
thizing with  them  they  may  be  led  on  to  any  extent  of  inquiry  into  the  quali- 
ties and  structures  of  these  things  ?  Every  botanist  who  has  had  children  with 
him  in  the  woods  and  the  lanes  must  have  noticed  how  eagerly  they  joined  in 
his  pursuits,  how  keenly  thej'^  searched  out  plants  for  him,  how  intently  they 
watclied  whilst  he  examined  them,  how  they  overwhelmed  him  with  questions. 
The  consistent  follower  of  Bacon — the  "servant  and  interpreter  of  nature,"  will 
see  that  we  ought  modestly  to  adopt  the  course  of  culture  thus  indicated. 
Having  gained  duo  familiarity  with  the  simpler  properties  of  inorganic  objecrs, 
the  child  should  by  the  same  process  be  led  on  to  a  like  exhaustive  examination 
of  the  things  it  picks  up  in  its  dailj'  walks — the  less  complex  facts  they  present 
being  alone  noticed  at  first :  in  plants,  the  color,  number,  and  forms  of  the  petals 
and  shapes  of  the  stalks  and  leaves :  in  insects,  the  numbers  of  the  wings,  legs, 
and  antennae,  and  their  colors.  As  these  become  fully  appreciated  and  invari- 
ably observed,  further  facts  may  be  successively  introduced:  in  the  one  case, 
the  numbers  of  stamens  and  pistils,  the  forms  of  the  flowers,  whether  radial  or 
bilateral  in  symmetry,  the  arrangement  and  character  of  the  leaves,  whether 
opposite  or  alternate,  stalked  or  sessUe,  smooth  or  hairy,  serrated,  toothed,  or 
crenate ;  in  the  other,  the  divisions  of  the  body,  the  segments  of  the  abdomen, 
the  markings  of  the  wings,  the  number  of  joints  in  the  legs,  and  the  forms  of 
the  smaller  organs — the  system  pursued  throughout  being  that  of  making  it  the 
child's  ambition  to  say  respecting  every  thing  it  finds,  all  that  can  be  said. 
Then  when  a  fit  age  has  been  reached,  the  means  of  preserving  these  plants 
which  have  become  so  interesting  in  virtue  of  the  knowledge  obtained  of  them, 
may  as  a  great  favor  be  supplied ;  and  eventually,  as  a  still  greater  favor,  may 
also  be  supphed  the  apparatus  needful  for  keeping  the  larvae  of  our  common 
butterflies  and  moths  through  their  transformations — a  practice  which,  as  wo 
can  personally  testify,  yields  the  highest  gratification ;  is  continued  with  ardor 
for  years;  when  joined  with  the  formation  of  an  entomological  collection,  adds 
.'nunense  interest  to  Saturday-afternoon  rambles ;  and  forms  an  admirable  intro- 
duction to  the  study  of  physiology. 


SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION.  381 

VALUE    OP   A   LOVE   AND   A   KNOWLEDGE   OF   NATURE. 

10.  If  there  is  a  more  worthy  aim  for  us  than  to  be  drudges — if  there  are 
other  uses  in  the  things  around  us  than  their  power  to  bring  money — if  there 
are  higher  faculties  to  be  exercised  than  acquisitive  and  sensual  ones — if  the 
pleasures  which  poetry  and  art  and  science  and  philosophy  can  bring  are  of  any 
moment^then  is  it  desirable  that  the  instinctive  inclination  which  every  child 
shows  to  observe  natural  beauties  and  investigate  natural  phenomena  should  be 
encouraged.  But  this  gross  utilitarianism  which  is  content  to  come  into  the 
world  and  quit  it  again  without  knowing  what  kind  of  a  world  it  is  or  what  it 
contains,  may  be  met  on  its  own  ground.  It  will  by  and  by  be  found  thnt  a 
knowledge  of  the  laws  of  life  is  more  important  than  any  other  knowledge 
whatever — that  the  laws  of  life  include  not  only  all  bodily  and  mental  processes, 
but  by  implication  all  the  transactions  of  the  house  and  the  street,  all  commerce, 
all  politics,  all  morals — and  that  therefore  without  a  due  acquaintance  with 
tliem  neither  personal  nor  social  conduct  can  be  rightly  regulated.  It  will 
eventually  be  seen  too,  that  the  laws  of  life  are  essentially  the  same  throughout 
the  whole  organic  creation  ;  and  further,  that  they  can  not  be  properly  under- 
stood in  their  complex  manifestations  untQ  they  have  been  studied  in  their 
simpler  ones.  And  when  this  is  seen,  it  wiU  be  also  seen  that  in  aiding  the 
child  to  acquire  the  out-of-door  information  for  which  it  shows  so  great  an 
avidity,  and  in  encouraging  the  acquisition  of  such  information  throughout 
youth,  we  are  simply  inducing  it  to  store  up  the  raw  material  for  future  organiza- 
tion— the  fiicts  that  will  one  day  bring  home  to  it  with  due  force  those  great 
generalizations  of  science  by  which  actions  may  be  rightly  guided. 

DRAWING INCLUDING   FORM   AND   COLOR. 

11.  The  spreading  recognition  of  drawing  as  an  element  of  education,  is  one 
amongst  many  signs  of  the  more  rational  views  on  mental  culture  now  begin- 
ning to  prevail.  Once  more  it  may  be  remarked  that  teachers  are  at  length 
adopting  the  course  which  nature  has  for  ages  been  pressing  upon  their  notice. 
The  spontaneous  efforts  made  by  children  to  represent  the  men,  houses,  trees, 
and  animals  around  them — on  a  slate  if  they  can  get  nothing  better,  or  with 
lead-pencil  on  paper,  if  they  can  beg  them — are  familiar  to  all.  To  be  shown 
through  a  picture-book  is  one  of  their  highest  gratifications;  and  as  usual,  their 
strong  imitative  tendency  presently  generates  in  them  the  ambition  to  make 
pictures  themselves  also.  This  attempt  to  depict  the  striking  things  they  see  is 
a  further  instinctive  exercise  of  the  perceptions — a  means  whereby  still  greater 
accuracy  and  completeness  of  observation  is  induced.  And  alike  by  seeking  to 
interest  us  in  their  discoveries  of  the  sensible  properties  of  things,  and  by  their 
endeavors  to  draw,  they  solicit  from  us  just  that  kind  of  culture  which  they 
most  need. 

Had  teachers  been  guided  by  nature's  hints  not  only  in  the  making  of  draw- 
ing a  part  of  education,  but  in  the  choice  of  their  modes  of  teaching  it,  they 
would  have  done  still  better  than  they  have  done.  What  is  it  that  the  child 
first  tries  to  represent?  Things  that  are  large,  things  that  are  attractive  in 
color,  things  round  which  its  pleasurable  associations  most  cluster — human 
beings  from  whom  it  has  received  so  many  emotions,  cows  and  dogs  which  in- 
terest by  the  many  phenomena  they  present,  houses  that  are  hourly  visible  and 
strike  V)y  their  size  and  contrast  of  parts.     And  which  of  all  the  processes  of 


382  SPENCER  ON  EDICATION. 

representation  gives  it  most  deliglit?  Coloring.  Paper  and  pencil  are  good  in 
default  of  something  better;  but  a  box  of  paints  and  a  brush — these  are  the 
treasures.  The  drawing  of  outlines  immediatelj  becomes  secondary  to  color- 
ing— is  gone  through  mainly  with  a  view  to  the  coloring;  and  if  leave  can  be 
got  to  color  a  book  of  prints,  how  great  is  the  favor  1  Now,  ridiculous  as  such 
a  position  will  seem  to  drawing-masters,  who  postpone  coloring  and  who  teach 
form  by  a  dreary  discipline  of  copying  lines,  we  believe  that  the  course  of  cul- 
ture thus  indicated  is  the  right  one.  That  priority  of  color  to  form,  which,  as 
already  pointed  out,  has  a  psychological  basis,  and  in  virtue  of  which  psycholo- 
gical basis  arises  this  strong  preference  in  the  child,  should  be  recognized  from 
the  very  beginning;  and  from  the  very  beginning  also  the  things  imitated 
should  be  real.  That  greater  delight  in  color  which  is  not  only  conspicuous  in 
children  but  persists  in  most  persons  throughout  life,  should  be  continuously 
employed  as  the  natural  stimulus  to  the  mastery  of  the  comparatively  difficult 
and  unattractive  form — should  be  the  prospective  reward  for  the  achievement 
of  form.  And  these  instinctive  attempts  to  represent  interesting  actualities 
should  be  all  along  encouraged ;  in  the  conviction  that  as,  by  a  widening  ex- 
perience, smaller  and  more  practicable  objects  become  interesting,  they  too  will 
be  attempted;  and  that  so  a  gradual  approximation  will  be  made  towards  imita- 
tions having  some  resemblance  to  the  realities.  No  matter  how  grotesque  the 
shapes  produced :  no  matter  how  daubed  and  glaring  the  colors.  The  question 
is  not  whether  the  child  is  producing  good  drawings:  the  question  is,  whether 
it  is  developing  its  faculties.  It  has  first  to  gain  some  command  over  its  fingers, 
some  crude  notions  of  likeness ;  and  this  practice  is  better  than  any  other  for 
these  ends ;  seeing  that  it  is  the  spontaneous  and  the  interesting  one.  During 
these  early  years,  be  it  remembered,  no  formal  drawing-lessons  are  possible: 
shall  we  therefore  repress,  or  neglect  to  aid,  these  efforts  at  self-culture  ?  or 
shall  we  encourage  and  guide  them  as  normal  exercises  of  the  perceptions  and 
the  powers  of  manipulation  ?  If  by  the  supply  of  cheap  wood-cuts  to  be 
colored,  and  simple  contour-maps  to  have  their  boundary  lines  tinted,  we  can 
not  only  pleasurably  draw  out  the  faculty  of  color,  but  can  incidentally  produce 
some  familiarity  with  the  outhnes  of  things  and  countries,  and  some  ability  to 
move  the  brush  steadily ;  and  if  by  the  supply  of  temptinglj'-paintcd  objects  we 
can  keep  up  the  instinctive  practice  of  making  representations,  however  rough, 
it  must  happen  that  by  the  time  drawing  is  commonly  commenced  there  will 
exist  a  facihty  that  would  else  have  been  absent.  Time  will  have  been  gained ; 
and  trouble  both  to  teacher  and  pupU,  saved. 

DIMENSIOKS  IN  PERSPECTIVE. 

12.  If  any  dependence  is  to  be  placed  upon  the  general  principles  of  educa- 
tion that  have  been  laid  down,  the  process  of  learning  to  draw  should  be 
throughout  continuous  with  those  eflbrts  of  early  childhood  described  above,  as 
so  worthy  of  encouragement.  By  the  time  that  the  voluntary  practice  thus 
initiated  has  given  some  steadiness  of  hand,  and  some  tolerable  ideas  of  propor- 
tion, there  wiU  have  arisen  a  vague  notion  of  body  as  presenting  its  three 
dimensions  in  perspective.  And  when,  after  sundry  abortive,  Chinese-like 
attempts  to  render  this  appearance  on  paper,  there  has  grown  up  a  pretty  clear 
perception  of  the  thing  to  be  achieved,  and  a  desire  to  achieve  it,  a  first  lesson 
in  empirical  perspective  may  be  given  by  means  of  the  apparatus  occasionally 
used  in  explaining  perspective  as  a  science.     This  sounds  formidable ;  but  the 


SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION.  ggg 

experiment  is  both  comprehensive  and  interesting  to  any  boy  or  girl  of  ordinai-j 
intelligence.  A  plate  of  glass  so  framed  as  to  stand  vertically  on  the  table, 
being  placed  before  the  pupil,  and  a  book,  or  like  simple  object  laid  on  the  other 
side  of  it,  he  is  requested,  vhilst  keeping  the  eye  in  one  position,  to  make  ink 
dots  upon  the  glass,  so  that  they  may  coincide  with,  or  hide  the  corners  of  this 
object.  He  is  then  told  to  join  these  dots  by  lines;  on  doing  which  he  per- 
ceives that  the  lines  he  makes  hide,  or  coincide  with  the  outlines  of  the  object. 
And  then  on  being  asked  to  put  a  sheet  of  paper  on  the  other  side  of  the  glass, 
he  discovers  that  the  lines  he  has  thus  drawn  represent  the  object  as  he  saw  it. 
They  not  only  look  like  it,  but  he  perceives  that  they  must  be  like  it,  because  ' 
he  made  them  agree  with  its  outlines ;  and  by  removing  the  paper  he  can 
repeatedly  convince  himself  that  they  do  agree  with  its  outlines.  The  fact  is 
new  and  striking ;  and  serves  him  as  an  experimental  demonstration,  that  lines 
of  certain  lengths,  placed  in  certain  directions  on  a  plane,  can  represent  lines 
of  other  lengths,  and  having  other  directions  in  space.  Subsequently,  by 
gradually  changing  the  position  of  the  object,  he  may  be  led  to  observe  how 
some  lines  shorten  and  disappear,  whilst  others  come  into  sight  and  lengthen. 
The  convergence  of  parallel  lines,  and,  indeed,  all  the  leading  facts  of  perspec- 
tive may,  from  time  to  time,  be  similarly  illustrated  to  him.  If  he  has  been 
duly  accustomed  to  self-help,  he  will  gladly,  when  it  is  suggested,  make  the 
attempt  to  draw  one  of  these  outlines  upon  paper,  by  the  eye  only ;  and  it  may 
soon  be  made  an  exciting  aim  to  produce,  unassisted,  a  representation,  as  like 
as  he  can,  to  one  subsequently  sketched  on  the  glass.  Thus,  without  the  un- 
intelhgent,  mechanical  practice  of  copying  other  drawings,  but  by  a  method  at 
once  simple  and  attractive — rational,  yet  not  abstract,  a  familiarity  with  the 
linear  appearances  of  things,  and  a  faculty  of  rendering  them,  may  be,  step  by 
step,  acquired.  To  which  advantages  add  these : — that  even  thus  early  the 
pupil  learns,  almost  unconsciously,  the  true  theory  of  a  picture — namely,  that 
it  is  a  delineation  of  objects  as  they  appear  when  projected  on  a  plane  placed 
between  them  and  the  eye ;  and  that  when  he  reaches  a  fit  age  for  commencing 
scientific  perspective  he  is  ah-eady  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  facts  which 
form  its  logical  basis. 

GEOMETRY — PRIMARY. 

13.  As  exhibiting  a  rational  mode  of  communicating  primary  conceptions  in 
geometry,  we  can  not  do  better  than  quote  the  following  passage  from  Mr. 
"Wyse: — * 

"A  child  has  been  in  the  habit  of  using  cubes  for  arithmetic;  let  him  use 
them  also  for  the  elements  of  geometry.  _  I  would  begin  with  solids,  the  reverse 
of  the  usual  plan.  It  saves  all  the  difficulty  of  absurd  definitions,  and  bad  ex- 
planations on  points,  lines,  and  surfaces,  which  are  nothing  but  abstractions. 
.  .  .  A  cube  presents  many  of  the  principal  elements  of  geometry ;  it  at 
once  exhibits  points,  straight  lines,  parallel  lines,  angles,  parallelograms,  &c.,  &c. 
These  cubes  are  divisible  into  various  parts.  The  pupil  has  already  been 
familiarized  with  such  divisions  in  numeration,  and  he  now  proceeds  to  a  com- 
parison of  their  several  parts,  and  of  the  relation  of  these  parts  to  each  other. 
.  .  .  From  thence  he  advances  to  globes,  which  furnish  him  with  elementary 
notions  of  the  circle,  of  curves  generally,  &c.,  &c. 

"  Being  tolerably  familiar  with  solids,  he  may  now  substitute  planes.     The 

*  "  Education  Re/nrm."    By  Thomas  Wyse. 


384  SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION. 

transition  may  be  made  very  easy.  Let  the  cube,  for  instance,  be  cut  into  thin 
divisions,  and  placed  on  paper ;  be  will  then  see  as  many  plane  rectangles  as  he 
has  divisions;  so  with  all  the  others.  Globes  may  be  treated  in  the  same  man- 
ner; he  will  thug  see  how  surfaces  really  are  generated,  and  be  enabled  to 
abstract  them  with  facUity  in  every  solid. 

"  He  has  thus  acquired  the  alphabet  and  reading  of  geometry.  He  now 
proceeds  to  write  it. 

"The  simplest  operation,  and  therefore  the  first,  is  merely  to  place  these 
planes  on  a  piece  of  paper,  and  pass  the  pencil  round  them.  "When  this  has 
been  frequently  done,  the  plane  may  be  put  at  a  httle  distance,  and  the  child 
required  to  copy  it,  and  so  on." 

A  stock  of  geometrical  conceptions  having  been  obtained,  in  some  such  man- 
ner as  this  recommended  by  Mr.  Wyse,  a  further  step  may,  in  course  of  time, 
be  taken,  by  introducing  the  practice  of  testing  the  correctness  of  all  figures 
drawn  by  the  eye ;  thus  alike  exciting  an  ambition  to  make  them  exact,  and 
continually  illustrating  the  difficulty  of  fulfilling  that  ambition.  In  the  cutting 
out  of  pieces  for  his  card-houses,  in  the  drawing  of  ornamental  diagrams  for 
coloring,  and  in  those  various  instructive  occupations  which  an  inventive 
teacher  will  lead  him  into,  he  may  be  for  a  length  of  time  advantageously  left, 
like  the  primitive  builder,  to  tentative  processes ;  and  will  so  gain  an  abundant 
experience  of  the  difficulty  of  achieving  his  aims  by  the  unaided  senses. 
When,  having  meanwhile  undergone  a  valuable  discipline  of  the  perceptions,  he 
has  reached  a  fit  age  for  using  a  pair  of  compasses,  he  will,  whilst  duly  appre- 
ciating these  as  enabling  him  to  verify  his  ocular  guesses,  be  still  hindered  by 
tlie  difficulties  of  the  approximative  method.  In  this  stage  he  may  bo  left  for  a 
further  period :  partly  as  being  yet  too  young  for  any  thing  higher ;  partly 
because  it  is  desirable  that  he  should  be  made  to  feel  still  more  strongly  the 
want  of  systematic  contrivances.  If  the  acquisition  of  knowledge  is  to  be 
made  continuously  interesting ;  and  if,  in  the  early  civihzation  of  the  child,  as  in 
the  early  civilization  of  the  race,  science  becomes  attractive  only  as  ministering 
to  art ;  it  is  manifest  that  the  proper  preliminary  to  geometry  is  a  long  practice 
in  those  constructive  processes  which  geometry  will  facOitate.  Observe  that 
here,  too,  nature  points  the  way.  Almost  invariably,  children,  show  a  strong 
propensity  to  cut  out  things  in  paper,  to  make,  to  build — a  propensity  which,  if 
duly  encouraged  and  directed,  will  not  only  prepare  the  way  for  scientific  con- 
ceptions, but  will  develop  those  powers  of  manipulation  in  which  most  people 
are  so  deficient. 

GEOMETRY — EMPIRICAL. 

14.  When  the  observing  and  inventive  faculties  have  attained  the  requisite 
power,  the  pupil  may  be  introduced  to  empirical  geometry ;  that  is — geometry 
dealing  with  methodical  solutions,  but  not  with  the  demonstrations  of  them. 
Like  all  other  transitions  in  education,  this  should  be  made  not  formally  but  in- 
cidentally ;  and  the  relationship  to  constructive  art  should  still  be  maintained. 
To  make  a  tetrahedron  in  cardboard,  like  one  given  to  him,  is  a  problem  which 
will  alike  interest  the  pupil,  and  serve  as  a  convenient  starting-point.  In  at- 
tempting this,  he  finds  it  needful  to  draw  four  equilateral  triangles  arranged  in 
special  positions.  Being  unable  in  the  absence  of  an  exact  method  to  do  this 
accurately  he  discovers  on  putting  the  triangles  into  their  respective  positions, 
that  he  can  not  make  their  sides  fit,  and  that  their  angles  do  not  properly  meet 


SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION.  335 

at  the  apex.  He  may  now  be  shown  how  by  describing  a  couple  of  circles, 
each  of  these  triangles  may  be  drawn  with  perfect  correctness  and  without 
guessing ;  and  after  his  failure  he  will  duly  value  the  information.  Having  thus 
helped  him  to  the  solution  of  liis  first  problem,  with  the  view  of  illustrating  the 
nature  of  geometrical  methods,  he  is  in  future  to  be  left  altogether  to  his  own 
ingenuity  in  solving  the  questions  put  to  him.  To  bisect  a  line,  to  erect  a  per- 
pendicular, to  describe  a  square,  to  bisect  an  angle,  to  draw  a  line  parallel  to  a 
given  line,  to  describe  a  hexagon,  are  problems  which  a  little  patience  will 
enable  him  to  find  out.  And  from  these  he  may  be  led  on  step  by  step  to  ques- 
tions of  a  more  complex  kind ;  all  of  which,  under  judicious  management,  he 
will  puzzle  through  unhelped.  Doubtless,  many  of  those  brought  up  under  the 
old  regime,  will  look  upon  this  assertion  skeptically.  We  speak  from  facts, 
however,  and  those  neither  few  nor  special.  We  have  seen  a  class  of  boys  be- 
come so  interested  in  making  out  solutions  to  these  problems,  as  to  look  forward 
to  their  geometry -lesson  as  a  chief  event  of  the  week.  Within  the  last  month, 
we  have  been  told  of  one  girls'  school,  in  which  some  of  the  young  ladies 
voluntarily  occupy  themselves  with  geometrical  questions  out  of  school-hours ; 
and  of  another,  in  which  they  not  only  do  this,  but  in  which  one  of  them  is 
begging  for  problems  to  find  out  during  the  hohdays — both  which  facts  we 
state  on  the  authority  of  the  teacher.  There  could  indeed  be  no  stronger  proofs 
than  are  thus  aSbrded  of  the  practicability  and  the  immense  advantage  of  self- 
development.  A  branch  of  knowledge  which  as  commonly  taught  is  dry  and 
even  repulsive,  may,  by  following  the  method  of  nature,  be  made  extremely  in- 
teresting and  profoundly  beneficial.  We  say  profoundly  beneficial,  because  the 
effects  are  not  confined  to  the  gaining  of  geometrical  facts,  but  often  revolu- 
tionize the  whole  state  of  mind.  It  has  repeatedly  occurred,  that  those  who 
have  been  stupefied  by  the  ordinary  school-drill — by  its  abstract  formulas,  by  its 
wearisome  tasks,  by  its  cramming — have  suddenly  had  their  intellects  roused, 
by  thus  ceasing  to  make  them  passive  recipients,  and  inducing  them  to  become 
active  discoverers. 

This  empirical  geometry  which  presents  an  endless  series  of  problems,  and 
should  be  continued  along  with  other  studies  for  years,  may  throughout  be  ad- 
vantageously accompanied  by  those  concrete  applications  of  its  principles  which 
serve  as  its  preliminary.  After  the  cube,  the  octahedron,  and  the  various  forms 
of  pyramid  and  prism  have  been  mastered,  may  come  the  more  complex  regular 
bodies — the  dodecahedron,  and  the  icosahedron — to  construct  which  out  of 
single  pieces  of  cardboard  requires  considerable  ingenuity.  From  these,  the 
transition  may  naturally  be  made  to  such  modified  forms  of  the  regular  bodies 
as  are  met  with  in  crystals — the  truncated  cube,  the  cube  with  its  dihedral  as 
well  as  its  solid  angles  truncated,  the  octahedron  and  the  various  prisms  as 
similarly  modified ;  in  imitating  which  numerous  forms  assumed  by  different 
metals  and  salts,  an  acquaintance  with  the  leading  facts  of  mineralogy  will  be 
incidentally  gained.  After  long  continuance  in  exercises  of  this  kind,  rational 
geometry,  as  may  be  supposed,  presents  no  obstacles.  Constantly  habituated 
to  contemplate  relationships  of  form  and  quantity,  and  vaguely  perceiving  from 
time  to  time  the  necessity  of  certain  results  as  reached  by  certain  means,  the 
pupil  comes  to  regard  the  demonstrations  of  Euclid  as  the  missing  supplements 
to  his  familiar  problems.  His  well-disciplined  faculties  enable  him  easily  to 
master  its  successive  propositions,  and  to  appreciate  their  value ;  and  he  has  the 
occasional  gratification  of  finding  some  of  his  own  methods  proved  to  be  true. 

25 


886  SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION 

Thus  he  enjoys  what  is  to  the  unprepared  a  dreary  task.  It  only  remains  to 
add,  that  his  mind  will  presently  arrive  at  a  lit  condition  for  that  most  valuable 
of  all  exercises  for  the  reflective  faculties — the  making  of  original  demon- 
strations. 

THE  ACQUISITION   OF  KNOWLEDGE  SHOULD   BE   A   PROCESS  OF  SELF-INSTRUCTION 
AND   CONTINUOUS   PLEASURE. 

15.  If  progression  from  simple  to  complex,  and  from  concrete  to  abstract,  bo 
considered  the  essential  requirements  as  dictated  by  abstract  psychology,  then 
do  these  requirements  that  knowledge  shall  be  self-mastered,  and  pleasurably 
mastered,  become  the  tests  by  which  we  may  judge  whether  the  dictates  of  ab- 
stract psychology  are  being  fulfilled.  If  the  first  embody  the  leading  generaliza- 
tions of  the  science  of  mental  growth,  the  last  are  the  chief  canons  of  the  art  of 
fostering  mental  growth.  For  manifestly  if  the  steps  in  our  curriculum  are  so 
arranged  that  they  can  be  successively  ascended  by  the  pupil  himself  with  little 
or  no  help,  they  must  correspond  with  the  stages  of  evolution,  in  his  faculties ; 
and  manifestly  if  the  successive  achievements  of  these  steps  are  intrinsically 
gratifying  to  him,  it  follows  that  they  require  no  more  than  a  normal  exercise 
of  his  powers. 

But  the  making  education  a  process  of  self-evolution  has  other  advantages 
than  this  of  keeping  our  lessons  in  the  right  order.  In  the  first  place,  it  guar- 
antees a  vividness  and  permanency  of  impression  which  the  usual  methods  can 
never  produce.  Any  piece  of  knowledge  which  the  pupil  has  himself  acquired, 
any  problem  which  he  has  himself  solved,  becomes  by  virtue  of  the  conquest 
much  more  thoroughly  his  than  it  could  else  be.  The  preliminary  activity  of 
mind  which  his  success  implies,  the  concentration  of  thought  necessary  to  it, 
and  the  excitement  consequent  on  his  triumph,  conspire  to  register  all  the  facts 
in  his  memory  in  a  way  that  no  mere  information  heard  from  a  teacher,  or  read 
in  a  school-book,  can  be  registered.  Even  if  he  fails,  the  tension  to  which  his 
faculties  have  been  wound  up  insures  his  remembrance  of  the  solution  when 
given  to  him,  better  than  half  a  dozen  repetitions  would.  Observe  again,  that 
this  discipline  necessitates  a  continuous  organization  of  the  knowledge  he  ac- 
quires. It  is  in  the  very  nature  of  facts  and  inferences,  assimilated  in  this 
normal  manner,  that  they  successively  become  the  premises  of  further  conclu- 
sions. The  solution  of  yesterday's  problem  helps  the  pupil  in  mastering  to- 
day's. Thus  the  knowledge  is  turned  into  faculty  as  soon  as  it  is  taken  in,  and 
forthwith  aids  in  the  general  function  of  thinking — does  not  lie  merely  written 
in  the  pages  of  an  internal  library,  as  when  rote-learnt.  Mark  further,  the  im- 
portance of  the  moral  culture  which  this  constant  self-help  involves.  Courage 
iu  attacking  difficulties,  patient  concentration  of  the  attention,  perseverance 
through  failures — these  are  characteristics  which  after-life  specially  requires ; 
and  these  are  characteristics  which  this  system  of  making  the  mind  work  for  its 
food  specially  produces.  Tiiat  it  is  thoroughly  practicable  to  carry  out  instruc- 
tion after  this  fashion  we  can  ourselves  testify ;  having  been  in  youth  thus  led 
to  successively  solve  the  comparatively  complex  problems  of  Perspective.  And 
that  leading  teachers  have  bc^n  gradually  tending  in  this  direction  is  indicated 
alike  in  the  saying  of  Felleuberg,  that  "the  individual,  independent  activity  of 
the  pupil  is  of  much  greater  importance  than  the  ordinary  busy  officiousness  of 
many  who  assume  the  office  of  educators;"  in  the  opinion  of  Horace  Mann,  that 
"  unfortunately  education  amongst  us  at  present  consists  too  much  in  klHng,  not 


SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION.  33^ 

in  training  f  and  in  the  remark  of  M.  Marcel,  that  "what  the  learner  discovers 
by  mental  exertion  is  better  known  than  what  is  told  to  hira." 

A  pleasurable  state  of  feeling  is  far  more  favorable  to  intellectual  action  than 
one  of  indifference  or  disgust.  Every  one  knows  that  things  read,  heard,  or 
seen  with  interest,  are  better  remembered  than  those  read,  heard,  or  seen  with 
apathy.  In  the  one  case  the  faculties  appealed  to  are  actively  occupied  with 
the  subject  presented ;  in  the  other  they  are  inactively  occupied  with  it ;  and 
the  attention  is  continually  drawn  away  after  more  attractive  thoughts.  Hence 
the  impressions  are  respectively  strong  and  Aveak. 

No  one  can  compare  the  faces  and  manners  of  two  boys — the  one  made  happy 
by  mastering  interesting  subjects,  and  the  other  made  miserable  by  disgust  with 
his  studies,  by  consequent  failure,  by  cold  looks,  by  threats,  by  punishments — 
without  seeing  that  the  disposition  of  the  one  is  being  benefited,  and  that  of  the 
other  greatly  injured.  Whoever  has  marked  the  effect  of  intellectual  success 
upon  the  mind,  and  the  power  of  the  mind  over  the  body,  will  see  that  in  the 
one  case  both  temper  and  health  are  favorably  affected;  whilst  in  the  other 
there  is  danger  of  permanent  moroseness,  of  permanent  timidity,  and  even  of 
permanent  constitutional  depression.  To  all  which  considerations  we  must  add 
the  further  one,  that  the  relationship  between  teachers  and  their  pupOs  is,  other 
things  equal,  rendered  friendly  and  influential,  or  antagonistic  and  powerless, 
according  as  the  system  of  culture  produces  happiness  or  misery.  Human 
beings  ar^t  the  merty  of  their  associated  ideas.  A  daily  minister  of  pain  can 
not  fail  to  be  regarded  with  a  secret  dislike,  and  if  he  causes  no  emotions  but 
painful  ones,  will  inevitably  be  hated.  Conversely,  he  who  constantly  aids  chil- 
dren to  their  ends,  hourly  provides  them  with  the  satisfactions  of  conquest, 
hourly  encourages  them  through  their  difSculties  and  sympathizes  in  their  suc- 
cesses, can  not  fail  to  be  liked ;  nay,  if  his  behavior  is  consistent  throughout, 
must  be  loved.  And  when  we  remember  how  efficient  and  benign  is  the  con- 
trol of  a  master  who  is  felt  to  be  a  friend,  when  compared  with  the  control  of 
one  who  is  looked  upon  with  aversion,  or  at  best  indifference,  we  may  infer  that 
the  indirect  advantages  of  conducting  education  on  the  happiness  principle  do 
not  fall  far  short  of  the  direct  ones.  To  all  who  question  the  possibility  of  act- 
ing out  the  system  here  advocated,  we  reply  as  before,  that  not  only  does  theory 
point  to  it,  but  experience  commends  it.  To  the  many  verdicts  of  distinguished 
teachers  who  since  Pestalozzi's  time  have  testified  this,  may  be  here  added  that 
of  Professor  Pillans,  who  asserts  that  "  where  young  people  are  taught  as  they 
ought  to  be,  they  are  quite  as  happy  in  school  as  at  play,  seldom  less  delighted, 
nay,  often  more,  with  the  well-directed  exercise  of  their  mental  energies,  than 
with  that  of  then-  muscular  powers." 

As  suggesting  a  final  reason  for  making  education  a  process  of  self-instruction. 
and  by  consequence  a  process  of  pleasurable  instruction,  we  may  advert  to  the 
fact  that,  in  proportion  as  it  is  made  so,  is  there  a  probability  that  education  will 
not  cease  when  school-days  end.  As  long  as  the  acquisition  of  knowledge  i3 
rendered  habitually  repugnant,  so  long  will  there  be  a  prevailing  tendency  to 
discontinue  it  when  free  from  the  coercion  of  parents  and  masters.  And  when 
the  acquisition  of  knowledge  has  been  rendered  habitually  gratifying,  then  will 
there  be  as  prevailing  a  tendency  to  continue,  without  superintendence,  that 
same  self-culture  previously  carried  on  under  superintendence.  These  results 
are  inevitable.  While  the  laws  of  mental  association  remain  true — while  men 
dislike  the  things  and  places  that  suggest  painful  recollections,  and  delight  in 


388  SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION. 

those  which  call  to  mind  by-gone  pleasures — painful  lessons  will  make  knowl- 
edge repulsive,  and  pleasurable  lessons  \(riil  make  it  attractive.  The  men  to 
whom  in  boyhood  information  came  in  drcafy  tasks  along  with  throats  of  punish- 
ment, and  wlio  were  never  led  into  habits  of  independent  inquiry,  are  unlikely 
to  be  students  in  after  years;  while  those  to  wliom  it  came  in  the  natural 
forms,  at  the  proper  times,  and  who  remember  its  facts  as  not  only  interest- 
ing in  themselves,  but  as  the  occasions  of  a  long  series  of  gratifying  suc- 
cesses, are  likely  to  continue  through  life  that  self-instruction  commenced  in 
youth. 

IV.  WHAT  KNOWLEDGE  IS  MOST  WORTH. 

THE  RELATIVE  VALUES  OF  KNOWLEDGE. 

1.  Before  there  can  be  a  raitional  curriculum,  we  must  settle  which  things  it 
most  concerns  us  to  know ;  or,  to  use  a  word  of  Bacon's,  now  unfortunately 
obsolete — we  must  determine  the  relative  values  of  knowledges. 

Had  we  time  to  master  all  subjects  we  need  not  be  particular.  To  quote  the 
old  song: — 

Could  a  man  be  secure 

That  his  (lays  would  endure 

As  nf  uifl,  for  a  thousand  long  years, 

What  things  might  he  kno*  ! 

What  deeds  might  he  do !  ^|^ 

And  all  without  hurry  or  care.  ^^ 

"But  we  that  have  but  span-long  lives"  must  ever  bear  in  mind  our  limited 
time  for  acquisition.  And  remembering  how  narrowly  this  time  is  limited,  not 
only  by  the  shortness  of  life,  but  also  still  more  by  the  business  of  life,  we 
ought  to  be  especially  solicitous  to  employ  what  time  we  have  to  the  greatest 
advantage.  Before  devoting  years  to  some  subject  which  fashion  or  fancy 
suggests,  it  is  surely  wise  to  weigh  with  great  care  the  worth  of  the  results,  as 
compared  with  the  worth  of  various  alternative  results  which  the  same  years 
might  bring  if  otherwise  applied. 

How  to  live  ? — that  is  the  essential  question  for  us.  Not  how  to  live  in  the 
mere  material  sense  only,  but  in  the  widest  sense.  Tlie  general  problem  which 
comprehends  overj'  special  problem  is — the  right  ruling  of  conduct  in  all  directions 
under  all  circumstances.  In  what  way  to  treat  the  body ;  in  what  way  to 
treat  the  mind;  in  what  waj^  to  manage  our  afl'airs;  in  what  way  to  bring  up  a 
family ;  in  what  way  to  behave  as  a  citizen ;  in  what  way  to  utilize  all  those 
sources  of  happiness  which  nature  supplies — how  to  uge  all  our  faculties  to  the 
greatest  advantage  of  ourselves  and  otliers — how  to  live  completely  ?  And 
this  being  the  great  thing  needful  for  us  to  learn,  is,  by  consequence,  the 
great  thing  whi,  h  education  has  to  teach.  To  prepare  us  for  complete  living 
is  the  function  which  education  has  to  discharge ;  and  the  only  rational  mode 
of  judging  of  any  educational  course  is,  to  judge  in  what  degree  it  discharges 
such  function. 

Our  first  step  must  obviously  be  to  classify,  in  the  order  of  their  importan?e, 
tlie  leading  kinds  of  activity  which  constitute  human  life.  They  may  be 
naturally  arranged  into: — 1.  Those  activities  winch  directly  minister  to  self- 
preservation  ;  2.  Those  activities  which,  by  securing  the  necessaries  of  hfe,  in- 
directly minister  to  self-preservation ;  3.  Those  activities  which  have  for  their 


SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION.  389 

end  the  rearing  and  discipline  of  oflfspring ;  4.  Those  activities  which  are  in- 
volved in  the  maintenance  of  proper  social  and  pohtical  relations;  5.  Those 
niiscellaneous  activities  which  make  up  the  leisure  part  of  Ufe,  devoted  to  the 
gratitication  of  the  tastes  and  feelings. 

KNOWLEDGE   REQUISITE   TO   SELF-PRESERVATION. 

2.  Happily,  that  all-important  part  of  education  which  goes  to  secure  direct 
self-preservation,  is  in  great  part  already  provided  for.  Too  momentous  to  be 
left  to  our  blundering,  Nature  takes  it  into  her  own  hands.  "While  yet  in  its 
nurse's  arms,  the  infiint,  by  hiding  its  face  and  crying  at  the  sight  of  a  stranger, 
shows  the  dawning  instinct  to  attain  safety  by  flying  from  that  which  is  un- 
known and  may  be  dangerous ;  and  when  it  can  walk,  the  terror  it  manifests  if 
an  unfamiliar  dog  comes  near,  or  the  screams  with  which  it  runs  to  its  mother 
after  any  starthng  sight  or  sound,  shows  this  instinct  further  developed.  More- 
over, knowledge  subserving  direct  self-preservation  is  that  which  it  is  chiefly 
busied  in  acquiring  from  hour  to  hour.  How  to  balance  its  body ;  how  to  con- 
trol its  movements  so  as  to  avoid  collisions ;  what  objects  are  hard,  and  will 
hurt  if  struck ;  what  objects  are  heavy,  and  injure  if  they  fall  on  the  limbs ; 
which  things  will  bear  the  weight  of  the  body,  and  which  not ;  the  pains  in- 
flicted by  fire,  by  missiles,  by  sharp  instruments — these,  and  various  other 
pieces  of  information  needful  for  the  avoidance  of  death  or  accident,  it  is  ever 
learning.  And  when,  a  few  years  later,  the  energies  go  out  in  running,  climb- 
ing, and  Pmping,  in  games  of  strength  and  games  of  skill,  we  see  in  all  these 
actions  by  which  the  muscles  are  developed,  the  perceptions  sharpened,  and  the 
judgment  quickened,  a  preparation  for  the  safe  conduct  of  the  body  among  sur- 
rounding objects  and  movements ;  and  for  meeting  those  greater  dangers  that 
occasionally  occur  in  tlie  Uves  of  all.  Being  thus,  as  we  say,  so  well  cared  for 
by  Nature,  this  fundamental  education  needs  comparatively  little  care  from  us. 
What  we  are  chiefly  called  upon  to  see,  is,  that  there  shall  be  free  scope  for 
gaining  this  experience,  and  receiving  this  discipline, — that  there  shall  be  no 
such  thwarting  of  Nature  as  that  by  which  stupid  schoolmistresses  commonly 
prevent  the  girls  in  their  charge  from  the  spontaneous  physical  activities  they 
would  indulge  in ;  and  so  render  them  comparatively  incapable  of  taking  care 
of  themselves  in  circumstances  of  peril. 

KNOWLEDGE  REQUISITE  TO  INDUSTRIAL  SUCCESS. 

3.  While  every  one  is  ready  to  mdorse  the  abstract  proposition  that  instruc- 
tion fitting  youths  for  the  business  of  life  is  of  high  importance,  or  even  to  con- 
sider it  of  supreme  importance ;  yet  scarcely  any  inquire  what  instruction  will 
so  fit  them.  It  ig  true  that  reading,  writing,  and  arithmetic  are  taught  with  an 
intelligent  appreciation  of  their  uses ;  but  when  we  have  said  this  we  have  said 
nearly  all.  While  the  great  bulk  of  what  else  is  acquired  has  no  bearing  on 
the  industrial  activities,  an  immensity  of  information  that  has  a  direct  bearing 
on  the  industrial  activities  is  entirely  passed  over. 

For,  leaving  out  only  some  very  small  classes,  what  are  all  men  employed 
in?  They  are  employed  in  the  production,  preparation,  and  distribution  of  com- 
modities. And  on  what  does  efficiency  in  tlie  production,  preparation,  and  dis- 
tribution of  commodities  depend  ?  It  depends  on  the  use  of  methods  fitted  to 
the  respective  natures  of  these  commodities ;  it  depends  on  an  adequate  knowl- 
edge of  their  physical,  chemical,  or  vital  properties,  as  the  case  may  be:  that  is, 


390  SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION. 

it  depends  on  Science.  This  order  of  knowledge,  which  is  in  great  part  ignored 
in  our  school  courses,  is  the  order  of  knowledge  underlying  the  right  perform- 
ance of  all  those  processes  by  which  civilized  lilb  is  made  possible. 

Mathematics. 
For  all  the  higher  arts  of  construction,  some  acquaintance  with  Mathematics 
is  indispensable.     The  vUlage  carpenter,  who,  lacking  rational  instruction,  lays 
out  his  work  by  empirical  rules  learnt  in  his  apprenticeship,  equally  with  the 
builder  of  a  Britannia  Bridge,  makes  hourly  reference  to  the  laws  of  quantita- 
tive relations.      The  surveyor  on  whose  survey  the  land  is  purchased ;  the 
architect  in  designing  a  mansion  to  be  built  on  it;  the  builder  in  preparing  his 
estimates ;  his  foreman  in  laying  out  the  foundations ;  the  masons  in  cutting  the 
atones;  and  the  various  artisans  who  put  up  the  littings;  are  all  guided  by 
geometrical  truths.     Railway-making  is  regulated  from  beginning  to  end  by 
mathematics :  alike  in  the  preparation  of  plans  and  sections  5  in  staking  out  the 
line ;  in  the  mensuration  of  cuttings  and  embankments ;  in  the  designing,  esti- 
mating,  and   building   of  bridges,  culverts,   viaducts,   tunnels,  stations.     And 
similarly  with  tlie  harbors,  docks,  piers,  and  various  engineering  and  architectural 
works  that  fringe  the  coasts  and  overspread  the  face  of  the  country ;  as  well  as 
the  mines  that  run  underneath  it.     Out  of  geometry,  too,  as  applied  to  astronomy, 
the  art  of  navigation  has  grown ;  and  so,  by  this  science,  has  been  made  possi- 
ble that  enormous  foreign  commerce  which  supports  a  l^rge  part  of  our  popula- 
tion, and  supplies  us  with  many  necessaries  and  most  of  our  lux^es.     And 
now-a-days  even  the  farmer,  for  the  correct  laying  out  of  his  drain.s,  has  recourse 
to  the  level — that  is,  to  geometrical  principles.     "When  from  those  divisions  of 
mathematics  which  deal  with  space,  and  number,  some  small  smattering  of 
which  is  given  in  schools,  we  turn  to  that  other  division  which  deals  with  force, 
of  which  even  a  smattering  is  scarcely  ever  given,  we  meet  with  another  large 
class  of  activities  which   this   science   presides   over.     On  the  application  of 
rational  mechanics  depends  the  success  of  nearly  all  modern  manufacture.     The 
properties  of  the  lever,  the  wheel  and  axle,  &c.,  are  involved  in  every  machine — 
every  machine  is  a  solidified  mechanical  theorem ;  and  to  machinery  in  these 
times  we  owe  nearly  all  production.     Trace  the  history  of  the  breakfast-roll. 
The  soil  out  of  which  it  came  was  drained  with  machine-made  tOes ;  the  sur- 
face was  turned  over  by  a  macliine ;  the  seed  was  put  in  by  a  machine ;  the 
wheat  was  reaped,  thrashed,  and  winnowed  by  machines ;  by  machinery  it  was 
ground  and  bolted;  and  had  the  flour  been  sent  to  Gosport,  it  might  have  been 
made  into  biscuits  by  a  machine.     Look  round  the  room  in  which  you  sit.     If 
modern,  probably  the  bricks  in  its  walls  were  machine-made ;  by  machinery  the 
flooring  was  sawn  and  planed,  the  mantel-shelf  sawn  and  polished,  the  paper- 
hangings  made  and  printed ;  the  veneer  on  the  table,  the  turned  legs  of  the 
chairs,  the  carpet,  the  curtains,  are  all  products  of  macliinery.     And  your 
clothing — plain,  figured,  or  printed — is  it  not  wholly  woven,  nay,  perhaps  even 
sewed,  by  machinery  ?     And  the  volume  you  are  reading — are  not  its  leaves 
fabricated  by  one  machine  and  covered  with  these  words  by  another  ?    Add  to 
which  that  for  the  moans  of  distribution  over  both  land  and  sea,  we  are  similarly 
indebted.     And  then  let  it  bo  remembered  that  according  as  the  principles  of 
mechanics  are  well  or  ill  used  to  these  ends,  comes  success  or  failure — individual 
and  national.     The  engineer  who  misapplies  his  formulaj  lor  the  strength  of 
materials,  builds  a  bridge  that  breaks  down.     The  manufacturer  whose  apparatus 


SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION.  391 

is  badly  devised,  can  not  compete  with  another  whose  apparatus  wastes  less  in 
friction  and  inertia.  The  ship-builder  adhering  to  the  old  model,  is  outsailed  by 
one  who  builds  on  the  mechanically-justified  wave-line  principle.  And  as  the 
ability  of  a  nation  to  hold  its  own  against  other  nations  depends  on  the  skilled 
activity  of  its  units,  we  see  that  on  such  knowledge  may  turn  the  national  fate. 
Judge  then  the  worth  of  mathematics. 

Physics. 

Pass  next  to  Physics.  Joined  with  mathematics,  it  has  given  us  the  steam- 
engine,  which  does  the  work  of  millions  of  laborers.  That  section  of  physics 
which  deals  with  the  laws  of  heat,  has  taught  us  how  to  economize  fuel  in  our 
various  industries;  how  to  increase  the  produce  of  our  smelting  furnaces  by 
substituting  the  hot  for  the  cold  blast ;  how  to  ventilate  our  mines ;  how  to 
prevent  explosions  by  using  the  safety-lamp;  and,  through  the  thermometer, 
how  to  regulate  innumerable  processes.  That  division  which  has  the  phenoraeufi 
of  light  for  its  subject,  gives  eyes  to  the  old  and  the  mj^opic;  aids  through  the 
microscope  in  detecting  diseases  and  adulterations ;  and  by  improved  lighthouses 
prevents  shipwrecks.  Researches  in  electricity  and  magnetism  have  saved  in- 
calculable life  and  property  by  the  compass ;  have  subserved  sundry  arts  by  the 
electrotype ;  and  now,  in  the  telegraph,  have  supplied  us  with  the  agency  by 
which  for  the  future  all  mercantile  transactions  will  be  regulated,  political  inter- 
course carried  on,  and  perhaps  national  quarrels  often  avoided.  While  in  the 
details  of  in-door  life,  from  the  improved  kitchen-range  up  to  the  stereoscope  on 
the  drawing-room  table,  the  applications  of  advanced  physics  underlie  our 
comforts  and  gratifications. 

Chemistry. 

Still  more  numerous  are  the  bearings  of  Chemistry  on  those  activities  by 
which  men  obtain  the  means  of  living.  The  bleacher,  the  dj^er,  the  calico- 
printer,  are  severally  occupied  in  processes  that  are  well  or  ill  done  according  as 
they  do  or  do  not  conform  to  chemical  laws.  The  economical  reduction  from 
their  ores  of  copper,  tin,  zinc,  lead,  silver,  iron,  are  in  a  great  measure  questions 
of  chemistry.  Sugar-refining,  gas-making,  soap-boiling,  gunpowder  manufacture, 
are  operations  all  partly  chemical ;  as  are  also  those  by  which  are  produced 
glass  and  porcelain.  Whether  the  distiller's  wort  stops  at  the  alcoholic  fermen- 
tation or  passes  into  the  acetous,  is  a  chemical  question  on  which  hangs  his 
profit  or  loss ;  and  the  brewer,  if  his  business  is  sufBciently  large,  finds  it  pay 
to  keep  a  chemist  on  his  premises.  Glance  through  a  work  on  technolgy,  and 
it  becomes  at  once  apparent  that  there  is  now  scarcely  any  process  in  the  arts 
or  manufactures  over  some  part  of  which  chemistry  does  not  preside.  And 
then,  lastly,  we  come  to  the  fact  that  in  these  times,  agriculture,  to  be  profitably 
carried  on,  must  have  like  guidance.  The  analysis  of  manures  and  soils ;  their 
adaptations  to  each  other;  the  use  of  gypsum  or  other  substance  for  fixing  am- 
monia ;  the  utilization  of  coprolites ;  the  production  of  artificial  manures — all 
these  are  boons  of  chemistry  which  it  behooves  the  farmer  to  acquaint  himself 
with.  Be  it  in  the  lucifer  match,  or  in  disinfected  sewage,  or  in  photograhps — in 
bread  made  without  fermentation,  or  perfumes  extracted  from  refuse,  we  may 
perceive  that  chemistry  affects  all  our  industries ;  and  that,  by  consequence, 
knowledge  of  it  concerns  every  one  who  is  directly  or  indirectly  connected 
with  our  industries. 


392 


SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION. 


Biology. 
And  then  the  science  of  life — Biology :  does  not  this,  too,  bear  fundamentally 
upon  these  processes  of  indirect  self-preservation?  "With  what  we  ordinarily 
call  manufactures,  it  has,  indeed,  little  connection;  but  with  the  all-essential 
manufacture — that  of  food — it  is  inseparably  connected.  As  agriculture  must 
conform  its  methods  to  the  phenomena  of  vegetable  and  animal  life,  it  follows 
necessarily  that  the  science  of  these  phenomena  is  the  rational  basis  of  agricul- 
ture. Various  biological  truths  have  indeed  been  empirically  established  and 
acted  upon  by  farmers  while  yet  there  has  been  no  conception  of  them  •  as 
science :  such  as  that  particular  manures  are  suited  to  particular  plants ;  that 
crops  of  certain  kinds  unfit  the  soil  for  other  crops ;  that  horses  can  not  do 
good  work  on  poor  food ;  tliat  such  and  such  diseases  of  cattle  and  sheep  aro 
caused  by  such  and  such  conditions.  These,  and  the  everyday  knowledge 
which  the  agriculturist  gains  by  experience  respecting  the  right  management  of 
plants  and  animals,  constitute  his  stock  of  biological  facts ;  on  the  largeness  of 
which  greatly  depends  his  success.  And  as  these  biological  facts,  scanty,  in- 
definite, rudimentary,  though  they  are,  aid  him  so  essentially ;  judge  what  must 
be  the  value  to  him  of  such  facts  when  they  become  positive,  definite,  and  ex- 
haustive. Indeed,  even  now  we  may  see  the  benefits  that  rational  biology  is 
conferring  on  him.  The  truth  that  the  production  of  animal  heat  implies  waste 
of  substance,  and  that,  therefore,  preventing  loss  of  heat  prevents  the  need  for 
extra  food — a  purely  theoretical  conclusion — now  guides  the  fattening  of  cattle : 
it  is  found  that  by  keeping  cattle  warm,  fodder  is  saved.  Similarly  with  respect 
to  variety  of  food.  The  experiments  of  phj'siologists  have  sliown  that  not  only 
is  change  of  diet  beneficial,  but  that  digestion  is  facilitated  by  a  mixture  of  in- 
gredients in  each  meal :  both  which  truths  are  now  influencing  cattle-feeding. 
The  discovery  that  a  disorder  known  as  "the  staggers,"  of  which  many  thou- 
sands of  sheep  have  died  annually,  is  caused  by  an  entozoon  which  presses  on 
the  brain ;  and  that  if  the  creature  is  extracted  through  the  softened  place  in 
the  skull  which  marks  its  position,  the  sheep  usually  recovers;  is  another  debt 
which  agriculture  owes  to  biology.  When  we  observe  the  marked  contrast 
between  our  farming  and  farming  on  the  Continent,  and  remember  that  this 
contrast  is  mainly  due  to  the  far  greater  influence  science  has  had  upon  farming 
here  than  there;  and  when  we  see  how,  daily,  competition  is  making  the  adop- 
tion of  scientific  methods  more  general  and  necessary ;  we  shall  rightly  infer 
that  very  soon,  agricultural  success  in  England  will  be  impossible  without  a 
competent  knowledge  of  animal  and  vegetable  physiology. 

Science  of  Society. 

Yet  one  more  science  have  we  to  note  as  bearing  directly>on  industrial  suc- 
cess— the  Science  of  Society.  Without  knowing  it,  men  who  daily  look  at  the 
state  of  the  money-market,  glance  over  prices  current,  discuss  the  probable 
crops  of  corn,  cotton,  sugar,  wool,  silk,  weigh  the  chances  of  war,  and  from  all 
those  data  decide  on  their  mercantile  operations,  are  students  of  social  science : 
empirical  and  blundering  students  it  maybe;  but  still,  students  who  gain  the 
prizes  or  are  plucked  of  their  profits,  according  aa  they  do  or  do  not  reach  the 
right  conclusion.  Not  only  the  manufacturer  and  the  merchant  must  guide 
their  transactions  by  calculations  of  supply  and  demand,  based  on  numerous 
facts,  and  tacitly  recognizing  sundry  general  principles  of  social  action  j  but 


SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION.  393 

even  the  retailer  must  do  the  like :  his  prosperity  very  greatly  depending  upon 
tlie  correctness  of  his  judgments  respecting  the  future  wholesale  prices  and  the 
future  rates  of  consumption.  Manifestly,  all  who  take  part  in  the  entangled 
commercial  activities  of  a  community,  are  vitally  interested  in  understanding  the 
laws  according  to  which  those  activities  vary. 

Thus,  to  all  such  as  are  occupied  in  the  production,  exchange,  or  distribution 
of  commodities,  acquaintance  with  science  in  some  of  its  departments,  is  of 
fundamental  importance. 

KNOWLEDGE   REQUISITE   TO   THE   REARING   AND   DISCIPLINE   OP   THE   FAMILY 
OFFSPRING. 

4.  Is  it  not  an  astonishing  fact,  that  though  on  the  treatment  of  offspring 
depend  their  lives  or  deaths,  and  their  moral  welfare  or  ruin ;  yet  not  one  word 
of  instruction  on  the  treatment  of  offspring  is  ever  given  to  those  who  will 
hereafter  be  parents  ?  Is  it  not  monstrous  that  the  fate  of  a  new  generation 
should  be  left  to  the  chances  of  unreasoning  custom,  impulse,  fancy — joined  with 
the  suggestions  of  ignorant  nurses  and  the  prejudiced  counsel  of  grandmothers? 
If  a  mercha  t  commenced  business  without  any  knowledge  of  arithmetic  and 
book-keeping,  we  should  exclaim  at  his  folly,  and  look  for  disastrous  conse- 
quences. Or  if,  before  studying  anatomy,  a  man  set  up  as  a  surgical  operator, 
we  should  wonder  at  his  audacity  and  pity  his  patients.  But  that  parents 
should  begin  the  difficult  task  of  rearing  children  without  ever  having  given  a 
thought  to  the  principles — physical,  moral,  or  intellectual — which  ought  to  guide 
them,  excites  neither  surprise  at  the  actors  nor  pity  for  their  victims. 

To  tens  of  thousands  that  are  killed,  add  hundreds  of  thousands  that  survive 
with  feeble  constitutions,  and  millions  that  grow  up  with  constitutions  not  so 
strong  as  they  should  be ;  and  you  will  have  some  idea  of  the  curse  inflicted  on 
their  offspring  by  parents-  ignorant  of  the  laws  of  life.  Do  but  consider  for  a 
moment  that  the  regimen  to  which  children  are  subject  is  hourly  telling  upon 
them  to  their  life-long  injury  or  benefit ;  and  that  there  are  twenty  ways  of 
going  wrong  to  one  way  of  going  right ;  and  you  will  get  some  idea  of  the 
enormous  mischief  that  is  almost  everywhere  inflicted  by  the  thoughtless,  hap- 
hazard system  in  common  use.  Is  it  decided  that  a  boy  shall  be  clothed  in 
some  flimsy  short  dress,  and  be  allowed  to  go  playing  about  with  limbs  reddened 
by  cold?  The  decision  will  tell  on  his  whole  future  existence — either  in 
illnesses ;  or  in  stunted  growth ;  or  in  deficient  energy ;  or  in  a  maturity  less 
vigorous  than  it  ought  to  have  been,  and  consequent  hindrances  to  success  and 
happiness.  Are  children  doomed  to  a  monotonous  dietary,  or  a  dietary  that  is 
deficient  in  nutritiveness  ?  Their  ultimate  physical  power  and  their  efficiency 
as  men  and  women,  will  inevitably  be  more  or  less  diminished  by  it.  Are  they 
forbidden  vociferous  play,  or  (being  too  ill-clothed  to  bear  exposure,)  are  they 
kept  in-doors  in  cold  weather?  They  are  certain  to  fall  below  that  measure  of 
health  and  strength  to  which  they  would  else  have  attained.  "When  sons  and 
daughters  grow  up  sickly  and  feeble,  parents  commonly  regard  the  event  as  a 
misfortune — as  a  visitation  of  Providence.  Thinking  after  the  prevalent  chaotic 
fashion,  they  assume  that  these  evils  come  without  causes;  or  that  the  causes 
are  supernatural.  Nothing  of  the  kind.  In  some  cases  the  causes  are  doubt- 
less inherited;  but  in  most  cases  foolish  regulations  are  the  causes.  Very 
generally  parents  themselves  are  responsible  for  all  this  pain,  this  debility,  this 
depression,  this  misery.     They  have  undertaken  to  control  the  lives  of  their  off- 


394  SPENCER  ON  EDUCA'nON. 

spring  from  hour  to  hour;  willi  cruel  carelessness  they  have  neglected  to  learn 
anything  about  those  vital  processes  which  they  are  unceasingly  affecting  by 
their  commands  and  prohibitions ;  in  utter  ignorance  of  the  simplest  physiologic 
laws,  they  have  been  year  by  year  undermining  the  constitutions  of  their  chil- 
dren ;  and  have  so  inflicted  disease  and  premature  death,  not  only  on  them  but 
on  their  descendants. 

Equally  groat  are  the  ignorance  and  the  consequent  injury,  when  we  turn 
from  physical  training  to  moral  training.  Consider  the  young  mother  and  her 
nursery  legislation.  But  a  few  years  ago  she  was  at  school,  where  her  memory 
was  crammed  with  words,  and  names,  and  dates,  and  her  reflective  faculties 
scarcely  in  the  slightest  degree  exercised — where  not  one  idea  was  given  her 
respecting  the  methods  of  dealing  with  the  opening  mind  of  childhood;  and 
where  her  discipline  did  not  in  the  least  fit  her  for  thinking  out  methods  of  her 
own.  The  intervening  years  have  been  passed  in  practicing  music,  in  fancy- 
work,  in  novel-reading,  and  in  party-going:  no  thought  having  yet  been  given 
to  the  grave  responsibilities  of  maternity ;  and  scarcely  any  of  that  solid  intel- 
lectual culture  obtained  which  would  be  some  preparation  for  such  responsibili- 
ties. And  now  see  her  with  an  unfolding  human  character  committed  to  her 
charge — see  her  profoundly  ignorant  of  the  phenomena  with  which  she  has  to 
deal,  undertaking  to  do  that  which  can  be  done  but  imperfectly  even  with  the 
aid  of  the  profoundest  knowledge.  She  knows  nothing  about  the  nature  of  the 
emotions,  their  order  of  evolution,  their  functions,  or  where  use  ends  and  abuse 
begins.  She  is  under  the  impression  that  some  of  the  feelings  are  wholly  bad, 
which  is  not  true  of  any  one  of  them ;  and  that  others  are  good,  however  far 
they  may  be  carried,  which  is  also  not  true  of  any  one  of  them.  And  then, 
ignorant  as  she  is  of  that  with  which  she  has  to  deal,  she  is  equally  ignorant  of 
the  effects  that  will  be  produced  on  it  by  this  or  that  treatment.  What  can  be 
more  inevitable  than  the  disastrous  results  we  see  hourly  arising?  Lacking 
knowledge  of  mental  phenomena,  with  their  causes  and  consequences,  her  in- 
terference is  frequently  more  mischievous  than  absolute  passivity  would  have 
been.  This  and  that  kind  of  action,  which  are  quite  normal  and  beneficial,  she 
perpetually  thwarts ;  and  so  diminishes  the  child's  happiness  and  profit,  injures 
its  temper  and  her  own,  and  produces  estrangement.  Deeds  which  she  thinks 
it  desirable  to  encourage,  she  gets  performed  by  threats  and  bribes,  or  by  excit- 
ing a  desire  for  applause :  considering  little  what  the  inward  motive  may  be,  so 
long  as  the  outward  conduct  conforms ;  and  thus  cultivating  hypocrisy,  and 
fear,  and  selfishness,  in  place  of  good  feeling.  While  insisting  on  truthfulness, 
she  constantly  sets  an  example  of  untruth,  by  threatening  penalties  which  she 
does  not  inflict.  While  inculcating  self-control,  she  hourly  visits  on  her  little 
ones  angry  scoldings  for  acts  that  do  not  call  for  them.  She  has  not  the  re- 
motest idea  that  in  the  nursery,  as  in  the  world,  that  alone  is  the  truly  salutary 
discipline  which  visits  on  all  conduct,  good  and  bad,  the  natural  consequences, 
pleasurable  or  painful,  which  in  the  nature  of  things  such  conduct  tends  to 
bring.  Being  thus  without  theoretic  guidance,  and  quite  incapable  of  guiding 
herself  by  tracing  the  mental  processes  going  on  her  children,  her  rule  is  im- 
pulsive, inconsLstent,  mischievous,  often,  in  the  highest  degree;  and  would 
indeed  be  generally  ruinous,  were  it  not  that  the  overwhelming  tendency  of  the 
growing  mind  to  assume  the  moral  typo  of  the  race,  usually  subordinates  all 
minor  influences. 

And  then  the  culture  of  the  intellect — is  not  this,  too,  mismanaged  in  a 


SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION.  395 

similar  manner?  Grant  that  the  phenomena  of  intelligence  conform  to  Jaws ; 
grant  that  the  evolution  of  intelligence  in  a  child  also  conforms  to  laws ;  and  it 
follows  inevitably  that  education  can  be  rightly  guided  only  by  a  knowledge  of 
these  laws.  To  suppose  that  you  can  properly  regulate  this  process  of  forming 
and  accumulating  ideas,  without  understanding  the  nature  of  the  process,  ib 
absurd.  How  widely,  then,  must  teaching  as  it  is,  differ  from  teaching  as  it 
sliould  be;  when  hardly  any  parents,  and  but  few  teachers,  know  anything 
about  psychology.  As  miglit  be  expected,  the  system  is  grievously  at  fault, 
alike  in  matter  and  in  manner.  While  the  right  class  of  facts  is  withheld,  the 
wrong  class  is  forcibly  administered  in  the  wrong  way  and  in  the  wrong  order. 
With  that  common  limited  idea  of  education  which  confines  it  to  knowledge 
gained  from  books,  parents  thrust  primers  into  the  hands  of  their  little  ones 
years  too  soon,  to  their  great  injury.  Not  recognizing  the  truth  that  the  func- 
tion of  books  is  supplementary — that  they  form  an  indirect  means  to  knowledge 
when  direct  means  fail — a  means  of  seeing  througli  other  men  what  you  can 
not  see  for  yourself;  they  are  eager  to  give  second-hand  facts  in  place  of  first- 
hand facts.  Not  perceiving  the  enormous  value  of  that  spontaneous  education 
which  goes  on  in  early  years — not  perceiving  that  a  child's  restless  observation, 
instead  of  being  ignored  or  checked,  should  be  diligently  administered  to,  and 
made  as  accurate  and  complete  as  possible ;  they  insist  on  occupying  its  eyes 
and  thouglits  with  things  that  are,  for  the  time  being,  incomprehensible  and  re- 
pugnant. Possessed  by  a  superstition  which  worships  the  symbols  of  knowl; 
edge  instead  of  the  knowledge  itself^  they  do  not  see  that  only  when  his  ac- 
quaintance with  the  objects  and  processes  of  the  household,  the  streets,  and  the 
fields,  is  becoming  tolerably  exhaustive — only  then  should  a  child  be  introduced 
to  the  new  sources  of  information  which  books  supply:  and  this,  not  only  be- 
cause immediate  cognition  is  of  far  greater  value  than  mediate  cognition; 
but  also,  because  the  words  contained  in  books  can  be  rightly  interpre- 
ted into  ideas,  only  in  proportion  to  the  antecedent  experience  of  things. 
Observe  next,  that  this  formal  instruction,  far  too  soon  commenced,  is  carried 
on  with  but  little  reference  to  the  laws  of  mental  development.  Intellectual 
progress  is  of  necessity  from  the  concrete  to  the  abstract.  But  regardless 
of  thi.s,  highly  abstract  subjects,  such  as  grammar,  which  should  come 
quite  late,  are  begun  quite  early.  Political  geography,  dead  and  uniteresting  to 
a  child,  and  which  should  be  an  appendage  of  sociological  studies,  is  commenced 
betimes;  while  physical  geography,  comprehensible  and  comparatively  attrac- 
tive to  a  child,  is  m  great  part  passed  over.  Nearly  every  subject  dealt  with  is 
arranged  in  abnormal  order:  definitions,  and  rules,  and  principles  being  put 
first,  instead  of  being  disclosed,  as  they  are  in  the  order  of  nature,  through  the 
study  of  cases.  And  then,  pervading  the  whole,  is  the  vicious  system  of 
rote  learning — a  system  of  sacrificing  the  spirit  to  the  letter.  See  the  re- 
sults. What  with  perceptions  unnaturally  dulled  by  early  thwarting,  and  a 
coerced  attention  to  books — what  with  the  mental  confusion  produced  by  teach- 
ing subjects  before  they  can  be  understood,  and  in  each  of  them  giving  general- 
izations before  the  facts  of  which  tliese  are  the  generalizations — what  with 
making  the  pupil  a  mere  passive  recipient  of  otlier's  ideas,  and  not  in  the  least 
leading  him  to  be  an  active  inquirer  or  self-instructor — and  what  with  taxing 
the  faculties  to  excess;  there  are  very  few  minds  that  become  as  efiBcient  as 
they  might  be.  Examinations  being  once  passed,  books  are  laid  aside;  the 
greater  part  of  what  has  been  acquired,  being  unorganized,  soon  drops  out  of 


\ 


396  SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION. 

recollection ;  what  remains  is  mostly  inert — the  art  of  applying  knowledge  not 
having  been  cultivated ;  and  there  is  but  little  power  either  of  accurate  observa- 
tion or  independent  thinking.  To  all  which  add,  that  while  much  of  the  in- 
formation gained  is  of  relatively  small  value,  an  immense  mass  of  information 
of  transcendent  value  is  entirely  passed  over. 

Thus  wo  find  the  facts  to  be  such  as  might  have  been  inferred  a  priori.  The 
training  of  children — physical,  moral,  and  intellectual — is  dreadfully  defective. 
And  in  great  measure  it  is  so,  because  parents  are  devoid  of  that  knowledge  by 
which  this  training  can  alone  be  rightly  guided.  What  is  to  be  expected  when 
one  of  the  most  intricate  of  problems  is  undertaken  by  those  who  have  given 
scarcely  a  thought  to  the  principles  on  which  its  solution  depends  ?  For  shoe- 
making  or  house-building,  for  the  management  of  a  ship  or  a  locomotive-engine, 
a  long  apprenticeship  is  needful.  Is  it,  then,  that  the  unfolding  of  a  human 
being  in  body  and  mind,  is  so  comparatively  simple  a  process,  that  any  one  may 
superintend  and  regulate  it  with  no  prqiaration  whatever?  If  not — if  the 
process  is  with  one  exception  more  complex  than  any  in  Nature,  and  the  task 
of  administering  to  it  one  of  surpassing  difficulty ;  is  it  not  madness  to  make  no 
provision  for  such  a  task  ?  Better  sacrifice  accomplishments  than  omit  this  all- 
essential  instruction.  When  a  father,  acting  on  false  dogmas  adopted  without 
examination,  has  alienated  his  sons,  driven  them  into  rebellion  by  his  harsh 
treatment,  ruined  them,  and  made  himself  miserable ;  he  might  reflect  that  the 
'study  of  Ethology  would  have  been  worth  pursuing,  even  at  the  cost  of  know- 
ing nothing  about  ^schylus.  Wlien  a  mother  is  mourning  over  a  first-born 
that  has  sunk  under  the  sequelae  of  scarlet-fever — when  perhaps  a  candid  medi- 
cal man  has  confirmed  her  suspicion  that  her  child  would  have  recovered  had 
not  its  system  been  enfeebled  by  over-study — when  she  is  prostrate  under  the 
pangs  of  combined  grief  and  remorse ;  it  is  but  a  small  consolation  that  she  can 
read  Dante  in  the  original. 

Thus  we  see  that  for  regulating  the  third  great  division  of  human  activities,  a 
knowledge  of  the  laws  of  life  is  the  one  thing  needful.  Some  acquaintance 
with  the  first  principles  of  physiology  and  the  elementary  truths  of  psychology 
is  indispensable  for  the  right  bringing  up  of  children.  We  doubt  not  that  this 
assertion  will  by  many  be  read  with  a  smile.  That  parents  in  general  should 
be  expected  to  acquire  a  knowledge  of  subjects  so  abstruse,  will  seem  to  them 
an  absurdity.  And  if  we  proposed  that  an  exhaustive  knowledge  of  these 
subjects  should  be  obtained  by  all  fathers  and  mothers,  the  absurdity  would 
indeed  be  glaring  enough.  But  we  do  not.  General  principles  only,  accom- 
panied by  such  detailed  illustrations  as  may  be  needed  to  make  them  under- 
stood, would  sufiRce.  And  these  might  be  readily  taught — if  not  rationally, 
then  dogmatically.  Be  this  as  it  may,  however,  here  are  the  indisputable 
facts: — that  the  development  of  children  in  mind  and  body  rigorously  obeys 
certain  laws;  that  unless  these  laws  are  in  some  degree  conformed  to  by 
parents,  death  is  inevitable;  that  unless  they  are  in  a  great  degree  conformed 
to,  there  must  result  serious  physical  and  mental  defects ;  and  that  only  when 
they  are  completely  conformed  to,  can  a  perfect  maturity  be  reached.  Judge, 
then,  whether  all  wlio  may  one  day  be  parents,  should  not  strive  with  some 
anxiety  to  learn  what  these  laws  are. 

KNOWLEDGE   REQUISITE  FOR  THE  FUNCTIONS  OF  THE   CITIZEN. 
5.  Tliat  which  it  really  concerns  us  to  know  [to  discharge  well  the  functions 


^ 


SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION.  397 

of  the  citizen,]  is  the  natural  history  of  society.  "We  want  all  facts  wliich  help 
us  to  understand  how  a  nation  has  grown  and  organized  itself.  Among  these, 
let  us  of  course  have  an  account  of  its  government ;  with  as  little  as  may  be  of 
gossip  about  the  men  who  officered  it,  and  as  much  as  possible  about  the  struc- 
ture, principles,  methods,  prejudices,  corruptions,  &c.,  which  it  exliibited:  and 
let  this  account  not  only  include  the  nature  and  actions  of  the  central  govern- 
ment, but  also  those  of  local  governments,  down  to  their  minutest  ramifica- 
tions. Let  us  of  course  also  have  a  parallel  description  of  the  ecclesiastical 
government — its  organization,  its  conduct,  its  power,  its  relations  to  the  state: 
and  accompanying  this,  the  ceremonial,  creed,  and  religious  ideas — not  only 
those  nominally  believed,  but  those  really  believed  and  acted  upon.  Let  us  at 
the  same  time  be  informed  of  the  control  exercised  by  class  over  class,  as  dis- 
played in  all  social  observances — in  titles,  salutations,  and  forms  of  address. 
Let  us  know,  too,  what  were  all  the  other  customs  which  regulated 
the  popular  life  out  of  doors  and  in-doors :  including  those  wliich  con- 
cern the  relations  of  the  sexes,  and  the  relations  of  parents  to  children. 
The  superstitions,  also,  from  the  more  unportant  myths  down  to  the 
charms  in  common  use,  should  be  indicated.  Next  should  come  a  deUn- 
eation  of  the  industrial  system :  showing  to  what  extent  the  division  of 
labor  was  carried;  how  trades  were  regulated,  whether  by  caste,  guilds,  or 
otherwise ;  what  was  the  connection  between  employers  and  employed ;  what 
were  the  agencies  for  distributing  commodities,  what  were  the  means  of  com- 
munication ;  what  was  the  circulating  medium.  Accompanying  all  which  sliould 
come  aa  account  of  the  industrial  arts  technically  considered :  stating  the  pro- 
cesses in  use,  and  tlie  quality  of  the  products.  Further,  the  intellectual  condi- 
tion of  the  nation  in  its  various  grades  should  be  depicted:  not  only  with  re- 
spect to  the  kind  and  amount  of  education,  but  with  respect  to  the  progress 
made  in  science,  and  the  prevailing  manner  of  thinking.  The  degree  of  aesthetic 
culture,  as  displayed  in  architecture,  sculpture,  painting,  dress,  music,  poetry, 
and  fiction,  should  be  described.  Nor  should  there  be  omitted  a  sketch  of  the 
daily  lives  of  the  people — their  food,  their  homes,  and  their  amusements.  And 
lastly,  to  connect  the  whole,  should  be  exhibted  the  morals,  theoretical  and 
practical,  of  all  classes ;  as  indicated  in  their  laws,  habits,  proverbs,  deeds.  All 
these  facts,  given  with  as  much  brevity  as  consists  with  clearness  and  accuracy, 
should  be  so  grouped  and  arranged  that  they  may  be  comprehended  in  their 
ensemble ;  and  thus  may  be  contemplated  as  mutually  dependent  parts  of  one 
great  whole.  The  aim  should  be  so  to  present  them  that  we  may  readily 
trace  the  consenstis  subsisting  among  them ;  with  the  view  of  learning  what 
social  phenomena  co-exist  with  what  others.  And  then  the  corresponding 
delineations  of  succeeding  ages  should  be  so  managed  as  to  show  us,  as  clearly 
as  may  be,  how  each  belief,  institution,  custom,  and  arrangement  was  modified ; 
and  how  the  consensus  of  preceding  structures  and  functions  was  developed  into 
the  consensus  of  succeeding  ones.  Such  alone  is  the  kind  of  information  re- 
specting past  times,  which  can  be  of  service  to  the  citizen  for  the  regulation  of 
his  conduct. 

jEstiietics,  or  education  for  relaxations,  amusements,  etc. 

6.  Afler  considering  what  training  best  fits  for  self-preservation,  for  the  ob- 
taiument  of  sustenance,  for  the  discharge  of  parental  duties,  and  for  the  regula- 


898  SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION. 

tion  of  social  and  political  conduct ;  we  have  now  to  consider  what  training 
best  fits  for  the  miscellaneous  ends  not  included  in  these — for  the  enjoyments  of 
Nature,  of  Literature,  and  of  the  Fine  Arts,  in  all  their  forms.  Postponing 
them  as  we  do  to  things  that  bear  more  vitally  upon  human  welfare :  and  bring- 
ing evcrytliing,  as  we  have,  to  the  test  of  actual  value;  it  will  perhaps  be  in- 
ferred that  we  are  inclined  to  slight  these  less  essential  things.  No  greater  mis- 
take could  be  made,  however.  "We  yield  to  none  in  the  value  we  attach  to 
resthctic  culture  and  its  pleasures.  Without  painting,  sculpture,  music,  poetry, 
and  the  emotions  produced  by  natural  beauty  of  dvery  kind,  Ufe  would  lose  half 
its  charm.  So  far  from  thinking  that  the  training  and  gratification  of  the  tastes 
are  unimportant,  we  believe  the  time  will  come  when  they  will  occupy  a  much 
larger  share  of  human  life  than  now.  When  the  forces  of  Nature  have  been 
fully  conquered  to  man's  use — when  the  means  of  production  have  been 
brought  to  perfection — when  labor  has  been  economized  to  the  highest  degree — 
■when  education  has  been  so  systematized  that  a  preparation  for  the  more  essen- 
tial activities  may  be  made  with  comparative  rapidity — and  when,  consequently, 
there  is  a  great  increase  of  spare  time ;  then  wOl  the  poetrj-,  both  of  Art  and 
Nature,  rightly  till  a  large  space  in  the  minds  of  all. 

But  it  is  one  thing  to  admit  that  aesthetic  culture  is  in  a  high  degree  condu- 
cive to  human  happiness ;  and  another  thing  to  admit  that  it  is  a  fundamental 
requisite  to  human  happiness.  However  important  it  may  be,  it  must  yield 
precedence  to  those  kinds  of  culture  which  bear  more  directly  upon  the  duties 
of  life.  As  before  hinted,  literature  and  the  fine  arts  are  made  possible  by 
those  activities  which  make  individual  and  social  life  possible ;  and  manifestly, 
that  which  is  made  possible,  must  be  postponed  to  that  which  makes  it  possible. 
A  florist  cultivates  a  plant  for  the  sake  of  its  flower;  and  regards  the  roots  and 
leaves  as  of  value,  chiefly  because  they  are  instrumental  in  producing  the 
flower.  But  while,  as  an  ultimate  product,  the  flower  is  the  thing  to  which 
everything  else  is  subordinate,  the  florist  very  well  knows  that  the  root  and 
leaves  are  intrinsically  of  greater  importance ;  because  on  them  the  evolution  of 
the  flower  depends.  He  bestows  every  care  in  rearing  a  healthy  plant ;  and 
knows  it  would  be  folly  if,  in  his  anxiety  to  obtain  the  flower,  he  were  to  neg- 
lect the  plant.  Similarly  in  the  case  before  us.  Architecture,  sculpture,  paint- 
ing, music,  poetry,  &c.,  may  be  truly  called  the  efflorescence  of  civUized  life. 
But  even  supposing  them  to  be  of  such  transcendent  worth  as  to  subordinate 
the  civilized  life  out  of  which  they  grow  (which  can  hardly  be  asserted,)  it  will 
still  be  admitted  that  the  production  of  a  healthy  civilized  life  must  be  the  first 
consideration;  and  that  the  knowledege  conducing  to  this  must  occupy  the 
highest  place. 

However  fully  we  may  admit  that  extensive  acquaintance  with  modern 
languages  is  a  valuable  accomplishment,  which,  through  reading,  conversation, 
and  travel,  aids  in  giving  a  certain  finish ;  it  by  no  means  follows  that  this  re- 
sult is  rightly  purchased  at  the  cost  of  that  vitally  important  knowledge  sacri- 
ficed to  it.  Supposing  it  true  that  classical  education  conduces  to  elegance  and 
correctness  of  style ;  it  can  not  be  said  that  elegance  and  correctness  of  style 
are  comparable  in  importance  to  a  familiarity  with  the  principles  that  should 
guide  the  rearing  of  children.  Grant  that  the  taste  may  be  greatly  improved 
by  reading  all  the  poetry  written  in  extinct  languages ;  yet  it  is  not  to  be  in- 
ferred that  such  improvement  of  taste  is  equivalent  in  value  to  an  acquaintance 


SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION.  399 

with  the  laws  of  liealth.  AccompUshmenta,  the  fiue  arts,  bcllcs-lelires,  and  all 
those  things  which,  as  we  say,  constitute  the  efflorescence  of  civihzation,  should 
be  wholly  subordinate  to  that  knowledge  and  discipline  in  which  civilization 
rests.  As  they  occupy  the  kisure  pari  of  life,  so  should  they  occupy  the  leisure 
part  of  education. 


THE   KXOWLEDGE   REQUISITE   FOR   PURPOSES   OF   DISCIPLINE. 

7.  We  may  be  quite  sure  that  the  acquirement  of  those  classes  of  facts 
which  are  most-  useful  for  regulating  conduct,  involves  a  mental  exercise  best 
fitted  for  strengthening  the  faculties.  It  would  be  utterly  contrary  to  the 
beautiful  economy  of  Nature,  if  one  kmd  of  culture  were  needed  for  the  gain- 
ing of  information  and  another  kind  were  needed  as  a  mental  gymnastic. 
Everywhere  throughout  creation  we  find  faculties  developed  through  the  per- 
formance of  those  functions  which  it  is  their  office  to  perform ;  not  through 
the  performance  of  artificial  exercises  devised  to  fit  them  for  these  functions. 
The  Red  Indian  acquires  the  swiftness  and  agility  which  make  him  a  successful 
hunter,  by  the  actual  pursuit  of  animals;  and  by  the  miscellaneous  activities  of 
his  life,  he  gains  a  better  balance  of  physical  powers  than  gymnastics  ever  give. 
That  skill  in  tracking  enemies  and  prey  which  he  has  reached  by  long  practice, 
implies  a  subtlety  of  perception  far  exceeding  anything  produced  by  artificial 
traming.  And  similarly  throughout.  From  the  Bushman,  whose  eye,  wliich 
being  habitually  employed  in  identifying  distant  objects  that  are  to  be  pursued 
or  fled  from,  has  acquired  a  quite  telescopic  range,  to  the  accountant  whose 

■  daily  practice  enables  him  to  add  up  several  columns  of  figures  simultaneously, 
we  find  that  the  highest  power  of  a  faculty  results  from  the  discharge  of  those 
duties  which  the  conditions  of  life  require  it  to  discharge.  And  we  may  be 
certain,  a  priori^  that  the  same  law  holds  throughout  education.  The  education 
of  most  value  for  guidance,  must  at  the  same  time  be  the  education  of  most 
value  for  discipline. 

THE  PROMINENT   VALUE  OF  SCIENCE. 

8.  To  the  question — What  knowledge  is  of  most  worth  ? — the  uniform  reply 
is — Science.  This  is  the  verdict  on  all  the  counts.  For  direct  self-preservation, 
or  the  maintenance  of  life  and  health,  the  all-important  knowledge  is — Science. 
For  that  indirect  self-preservation  which  we  call  gaining  a  livelihood,  the 
knowledge  of  greatest  value  is — Science.  For  the  due  discharge  of  parental 
functions,  the  proper  giaidance  is  to  be  found  only  in — Science.  For  that  inter- 
pretation of  national  life,  past  and  present,  without  which  the  citizen  can  not 
rightly  regulate  his  conduct,  the  indispensable  key  is — Science.  Alike  for  the 
most  perfect  production  and  liighest  enjoyment  of  art  in  all  its  forms,  the  need- 
ful preparation  is  still — Science.  And  for  purposes  of  discipline — intellectual, 
moral,  religious — the  most  efficient  study  is,  once  more — Science. 

And  yet  the  knowledge  which  is  of  such  transcendent  value  is  tliat  wliich,  ni 
Dur  age  of  boasted  education,  receives  the  least  attention.  While  this  which 
we  call  civihzation  could  never  have  arisen  had  it  not  been  for  science ;  science 
forms  scarcely  an  appreciable  element  in  what  men  consider  civilized  training. 
Though  to  the  progress  of  science  we  owe  it,  that  millions  find  support  where 
onee  there  was  food  only  for  thousands;   yet  of  these  millions  but  a  few 


400  SPENCER  ON  EDUCATION. 

thousands  pay  any  respect  to  that  which  has  made  their  existence  possible. 
Though  this  increasing  knowledge  of  the  properties  and  relations  of  things 
lias  not  only  enabled  wandering  tribes  to  grow  into  populous  nations,  but 
has  given  to  the  countless  members  of  those  populous  nations  comforts  and 
pleasures  which  theu-  few  naked  ancestors  never  even  conceived,  or  could 
have  believed,  yet  is  this  kind  of  knowledge  only  now  receiving  a  grudging 
recognition  in  our  highest  educational  institutions. 


PART   III. 

THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  TEACHER. 


26 


THE  POPULAR  SCHOOL  AND  THE  TEACHER. 

IN  EMILISH    LITERATURE. 


The  character  of  the  school  and  the  t-eacher  at  any  given  period, 
is  to  some  extent  reflected  in  the  popular  writings  of  the  day,  and  is 
to  a  still  greater  extent  perpetuated  by  such  representation.  As  part 
of  the  History  of  Popular  Education,  we  shall  republish  from  time  to 
time  ia  this  Journal,  not  only  the  elaborate  dissertations  by  the  best 
writers  and  thinkers  of  different  countries  and  ages,  on  the  principles 
and  methods  of  education,  but  we  propose  to  reproduce  the  portrait- 
ures which  have  been  drawn  in  prose  and  verse  of  the  school,  the 
schoolmaster  and  the  schoolmistress,  by  writei-s  of  established  reputa- 
tion— especially  in  the  English  language.  We  shall  add  a  few  notes 
and  annotations  for  the  benefit  of  readers  who  may  not  be  familiar 
with  the  authors  quoted,  or  the  names  and  customs  referred  to. 

THOMAS   FULLER,    D.  D.       1608 — 1661. 

Dr.  Thomas  Fuller  was  the  son  of  a  clergyman  in  Aldwinkle  in 
Northamptonshire,  where  he  was  born  in  1608, — was  educated  at 
Queen's  College,  Cambridge, — preached  in  London, — published  his 
History  of  the  Holy  War  in  1640,  his  Holy  State  in  1642,  his  Good 
Thoughts  in  Bad  Times  \n  1645,  and  his  Church  History  in  1656, — 
and  died  in  1661.  His  Worthies  of  England^  the  labor  of  many 
years  and  a  fund  of  biographical  information,  was  not  prtnted  till 
after  his  death.  His  writings  are  full  of  learning,  composed  in  a 
quaint  and  witty  style,  and  abound  in  admirable  maxims  character- 
ized by  sagacity  and  good  sense,  and  expressed  in  language  always 
pithy,  and  frequently  irresistibly  humorous.  His  Holy  and  Profane 
States  contain  beautifully  drawn  characters,  of  which  the  following  is 
an  admirable  specimen. 

THE   GOOD   schoolmaster. 

There  is  scarce  any  profession  in  the  commonwealth  more  necessary,  which 
is  so  slightly  performed.  The  reasons  whereofj  I  conceive  to  be  these :  first, 
young  scholars  make  this  calling  their  refuge,  yea,  perchance  before  they  have 
taken  any  degree  in  the  University,  commence  schoolmasters  in  the  country,  as 
if  nothing  else  were  required  to  set  up  this  profession  but  only  a  rod  and  a 
ferula.  Secondly,  others,  who  are  able,  use  it  only  as  a  passage  to  better  pre- 
ferment, to  patch  the  rents  in  their  present  fortune,  till  they  can  provide  a  new 
one.  and  betake  themselves  to  some  more  gainful  calling.  Thirdly,  they  are  dis- 
heartened from  doing  their  best  with  the  miserable  reward  which  in  some  places 
they  receive,  being  masters  to  the  children,  and  slaves  to  their  parents.  Fourthly, 
being  grown  rich,  they  grow  negligent,  and  scorn  to  touch  the  school,  but  by 
the  proxy  of  an  usher.     But  see  how  well  our  schoohnastcr  behaves  himselil 


404  THE  POPULAR  SCHOOL  ^  LITERATURE.    ^ 

His  genius  inclines  him  with  delight  to  his  profession.  Some  men  had  as  lief 
be  schoolboys  as  schoolmasters,  to  be  tied  to  the  school,  as  Cooper's  dictionary 
and  Scapula's  lexicon  are  chained*  to  tlie  desk  therein;  and  though  great 
scholars,  and  skilh'ul  in  other  arts,  are  bunglers  in  this:  but  God  of  his  good- 
ness hath  litted  several  men  for  several  callings,  that  the  necessity  of  church 
and  state  in  all  conditions  may  be  provided  for.  So  that  he  who  beholds  the 
fabric  thereof  may  say,  "  God  hewed  out  this  stone,  and  appointed  it  to  lie  in 
this  very  place,  for  it  would  fit  none  other  so  well,  and  here  it  doth  most  excel- 
lent," And  thus  God  mouldeth  some  for  a  schoolmaster's  life,  undertaking  it 
with  desire  and  delight,  and  discharging  it  with  dexterity  and  happy  success. 

He  studieth  hia  scholars'  natures  as  carefully  as  they  their  books ;  and  ranks 
their  dispositions  into  several  forms.  And  though  it  may  seem  difficult  for  him 
in  a  great  school  to  descend  to  all  particulars,  yet  experienced  schoolmastera 
may  quickly  make  a  grammar  of  boys'  natures,  and  reduce  them  all,  saving 
some  few  exceptions,  to  these  general  rules. 

1.  Tliose  that  are  ingenious  and  industrious.  The  conjunction  of  two  such 
planets  in  a  youth  presage  much  good  unto  him.  To  such  a  lad  a  frown  may  be  a 
whipping,  and  a  whipping  a  death;  yea,  where  their  master  whips  them  once, 
shame  whips  them  all  the  week  after.     Such  natures  he  useth  with  all  gentleness. 

2.  Those  that  are  ingenious  and  idle.  These  think,  with  the  hare  in  the  fable, 
that  running  with  snails  (so  they  count  the  rest  oi  their  schoollellows)  they  shall 
come  soon  enough  to  the  post,  though  sleeping  a  good  while  before  their  start- 
ing.    Oh,  a  good  rod  would  finely  take  them  napping, 

3.  Those  that  arc  dull  and  diligent.  ^Vines,  the  stronger  they  be,  the  more 
Iocs  they  have  when  they  are  new.  Many  boys  are  muddy-headed  tOl  they  be 
clarified  with  age,  and  such  afterward  prove  the  best.  Bristol  diamondsf  are 
both  bright  and  square  and  pointed  by  nature,  and  yet  are  soft  and  worthless ; 
whereas,  Orient  ones  in  India  are  rough  and  rugged  naturally.  Hard,  rugged 
and  dull  natures  of  youth  acquit  themselves  afterward  the  jewels  of  the  coun- 
try, and  therefore  their  dullness  at  first  is  to  be  borne  with,  if  they  be  diligent. 
That  schoolmaster  deserves  to  be  beaten  himself  who  beats  nature  in  a  boy  for 
a  fault.  And  I  question  whether  all  the  whipping  in  the  world  can  make  their 
parts,  which  are  naturally  sluggish,  rise  one  minute  before  the  hour  nature  hatli 
appointed. 

4.  Those  that  are  invincibly  dull  and  negligent  also.  Correction  may  reform 
the  latter,  not  amend  the  former.  All  the  whetting  in  the  world  can  never  set 
a  razor's  edge  on  that  which  hath  no  steel  in  it.  Such  boys  he  consigneth  over 
to  other  professions.  Shipwrights  and  boatmakers  will  choose  those  crooked 
pieces  of  timber,  which  other  carpenters  refuse.  Those  may  make  excellent 
uierchanfb  and  mechanics  which  will  not  serve  for  scholars. 

He  is  able,  dihgent,  and  methodical  in  his  teaching ;  not  leading  them  rather 
in  a  circle  than  forward.  He  minces  his  precepts  for  children  to  swallow, 
hanging  clogs  on  the  nimbleness  of  his  own  soul,  that  his  scholars  may  go  along 
with  him. 

He  is,  and  will  be  known  to  be  an  absolute  monarch  in  his  school.  If  cocker- 
ing mothers  profler  him  money  to  purchase  their  sons  an  exemption  from  his 
rod,  (to  live  as  it  were  in  a  peculiar,  out  of  their  master's  jurisdiction,)  with  dis- 
dain he  refuseth  it,  and  scorns  the  late  custom  in  some  places  of  commuting 
whipping  into  money,  and  ran.soming  boys  from  the  rod  at  a  set  price.  If  ho 
liath  a  stubborn  youth,  correction-proof,  he  debaseth  not  his  authority  by  con- 
testing with  him,  but  fairly,  if  ho  can,  puts  him  away  before  his  obstmacy  hath 
infected  others. 

He  is  moderate  in  inflicting  deserved  correction.  Many  a  schoolmaster  bet- 
ter answereth  the  name  Trat6oTpiPrii-\,  than  :Tatiayo)ydi.-!f.  rather  tearing  hia 
scholars'  flesh  with  whipping,  than  giving  them  good  education.     No  wonder 

'  The  practice  of  chaining  the  Dictionary  to  the  master's  desk,  to  be  there  consulted,  ex- 
i.sfp.rt  in  the  early  Grammar  Schools  olthis  country  See  Parker's  History  of  the  Free  School 
of  Ruxbury. 

*  BnisTot.  DIAMONDS  are  pmall  nnd  brilliant  crystals  of  quartz  found  in  the  vicinity  of 
Bristol,  Kiiiilaiid,  and  occasionally  ustd  for  ornamental  purposes      Brande. 

t  tTaiSorpi/3rji— a  teacher  of  wrrsfling  or  ev^nnslics.  -naiiayoiyoi— strictly  the  slave  who 
tpent  tcith  a  f/i'ij/rum  home  to  school  and  the  gymnasium— bai  ustd  to  designate  one  who 
teaches  and  trains  buys. 


THE  POPULAR  SCHOOL  IN  LITERATURE.  405 

Jf  his  scholars  hate  the  musos,  being  presented  unto  them  in  the  shape  of  fiends 
and  furies.  Junius*  complains  "de  iusolenti  carnificina"  of  his  schoolmaster,  by 
whom  •'  conscindebatur  flagris  septies  aut  octies  in  dies  singulos."  Yea,  hear 
the  lamentable  verses  of  poor  Tusser  in  his  own  life : 

•'  From  Paul's  I  went,  to  Eton  sent, 
To  learn  straightways  the  Latin  ptirase, 
Where  fifly-three  stripes  given  to  me 

At  ouce  1  had. 

For  fault  but  small,  or  none  at  all, 
It  came  to  pass  thus  beat  I  was  ; 
See,  Uilal.t  see  the  mercy  of  thee 

To  me  poor  lad." 

Such  an  OrbQius:]:  mars  more  scholars  than  he  makes :  their  tyranny  liath 
caused  many  tongues  to  stammer,  ^\■hich  spake  plain  by  nature,  and  whose 
stuttering  at  first  was  nothing  else  but  fears  quavering  on  their  speech  at  their 
master's  presence;  and  whose  mauling  them  about  their  heads  hath  dulled 
those  who  in  quickness  exceeded  their  master. 

He  makes  his  school  free  to  him,  who  sues  to  him  "in  forma  pauperis."  And 
surely  learning  is  the  greatest  alms  that  can  be  given.  But  he  is  a  beast,  who, 
because  the  poor  scholar  can  not  pay  him  his  wages,  pays  the  scholar  in  his 
wliipping.  Rather  are  diligent  lads  to  be  encouraged  with  all  excitements  to 
learning.  This  minds  me  of  what  I  have  heard  concerning  Mr.  Bust,  that  worthy 
late  schoolmaster  of  Eton,  who  would  never  suffer  any  wandering  begging 
scholar  (such  as  justly  the  statute  hath  ranked  in  the  forefront  of  rogues)  to 
eome  into  his  school,  but  would  thrust  him  out  with  earnestness,  (however  pri- 
vately charitable  unto  him.)  lest  his  schoolboj^s  should  be  disheartened  from  their 
books,  by  seeing  some  scholars,  after  their  studying  in  the  University,  preferred 
to  beggary. 

He  spoils  not  a  good  school  to  make  thereof  a  bad  college,  therein  to  teach 
his  scholars  logic.  For  besides  that  logic  may  have  an  action  of  trespass  against 
grammar  for  encroaching  on  her  liberties,  syllogisms  are  solecisms  taught  in  tlie 
school,  and  oftentimes  they  are  forced  afterward  in  the  University  to  unlearn 
the  fumbling  skill  they  had  before. 

Out  of  his  school  he  is  no  whit  pedantical  in  carriage  or  discourse ;  contenting 
himself  to  be  rich  in  Latin,  though  he  doth  not  jingle  with  it  in  every  company 
wherein  he  comes. 

To  conclude,  let  this  amongst  other  motives  make  schoolmasters  careful  in 
their  place,  that  the  eminencies  of  their  scholars  have  commended  the  memories 
of  their  schoolmasters  to  posterity,  who  otherwise  in  obscurity  had  altogether 
been  forgotten.  Who  had  ever  heard  of  R.  Bond,  in  Laacashire,  but  for  the 
breeding  of  learned  Ascham,  his  scholar '?  or  of  Hartgrave,  in  Brundly  school, 

*  Francis  .Junius,  who  died  in  1602.  professor  of  divinity  at  Leyden.  whose  autobiography 
contains  brief  notices  of  his  school  and  schoolmasters— is  probably  referred  to.  He  was  the 
author  of  Commentaries,  IJebrete  Lexicon.  Translatirms  of  the  Scriptures,  etc. 

t  Nicholas  Udal.  Head  Master  of  Eton  Collese.  from  1530  to  155.5,  and  of  Westminster 
from  1555  to  I5G4,  through  the  Schoolmaster  of  Roger  Ascham.  and  Thomas  Tusser 's  Account 
of  his  owi)  Ijfe.  seems  destined  to  an  unenviable  immortality  for  his  flojrffinsj  propensities. 
He  was  born  in  Hampshire  in  150G.  educated  at  Oxford,  and  died  in  1564.  He  was  the 
author  of  a  ••  Moral  play"  entitled  Ralph  Royster  Dnyster. 

!  Orbilhis  PupiLLtis,  was  a  native  of  Beneventum.  where  having  received  a  good  educa- 
tion, served  as  a  suldier  in  Macedonia,  tauiiht  for  some  time  in  his  native  place,  unlil  i;i  the 
consulship  of  Cicero,  B.  C.  63,  he  removed  to  Rome  and  opened  a  school,  which  was  alteiidfd 
by  Horace,  who  seems  to  have  carried  away  wilh  him  astinginpr  remembrance  of  his  HofTfiinj; 
propensities,  ami  for  which  he  has  made  him  infamous  to  alt  time.  In  his  Epistle  to  Augus- 
tus, [Ep.  11.  1,  70.1  he  calls  him  plngnsum — fond  of  flogging.  Suf-tonius  in  his  Lilur  de  flfw)- 
tribu.i  Gramma/icis  describes  Orbilius  in  these  words  :  f^uiV  aulem  naturtb  acerba.  nnn  tnodo 
in  anii  snphislas.  qnns  omni .lermone  larernrit.  srri  rtiiiin  in  discijmlus,  ut  Horatius  signijicat, 
plagosum  eum  appetlans,  et  Domititts  Mnrsus  scrihens  : 

Si  guos  Orbilius  ferula  scuticaque  cccidet. 

The  ferula,  the  general  inbtrument  of  punishment  in  school,  was  the  .stalk  of  a  reed  cr 
cane  of  that  name,  in  which  Promelliens  conveyed  the  .':park  of  tire  from  heaven.  Many 
teachers  act  as  IhougU  they  thought  some  of  the  divine  fire  hail  impregnated  the  stalk  for 
future  use.  5'c?(((oa  was  a  lash,  and  a  more  flnxible  and  severe  instrument  of  punishment, 
like  the  raw  hide,  made  of  unlanned  leather  twisted. 

Orbilius  lived  to  be  nearly  one  hundreii  years  old.  and  mutit  have  had  a  more  cheerful  tem- 
per than  Horace  gave  him  credit  for  His  native  city  erected  a  statue  to  his  memory.  He  ie 
Kaid  to  have  written  a  book  on  school-keeping. 


40$  THE  POPULAR  SCHOOI.  JN   LITERATURE. 

in  the  same  county,  but  because  ho  waa  the  first  did  teach  worthy  Doctor 
"VViiitaker?  nor  do  I  honor  the  memory  of  Mulcastcr*  lor  anything  so  much,  as 
for  his  scholar,  that  gulf  of  learning,  Bishop  Andrews.  This  made  the  Athe- 
nians, the  day  before  the  great  feast  of  Theseus,  their  founder,  to  sacrifice  a  ram 
to  the  memory  of  Conidas,  his  schoolmaster  that  first  instructed  liim. 

OLIVER    GOLDSMITH.      1728 — 1774. 

We  shall  have  occasion  to  notice  some  of  the  peculiarities  in 
Goldsmith's  own  education,  and  of  bis  experience  as  a  teacher  in  the 
republication  in  a  future  number  of  his  admirable  Essay  on  Educa- 
tion, in  which  he  claims  to  have  anticipated  some  of  the  c/Uggestions 
of  Rousseau  in  his  Emilius.  The  portraitures  in  the  Deserted  Village, 
whether  diawn  from  Irish  or  English  life,  are  among  the  classic  char- 
acters of  our  language. 

THE    VILLAGE    SCHOOLMASTER. 

Beside  yon  straggling  fence  that  sliirts  the  way 
With  blossom  furze  onprofitably  gay. 
There,  in  his  noisy  mansion  skill'd  to  rule. 
The  village  master  taught  bis  little  school 
A  man  severe  he  was,  and  stern  to  view  ; 
I  knew  him  well,  and  every  truant  knew. 
Well  had  the  boding  tremblers  learned  to  trace 
The  day's  disasters  in  his  morning  face  ; 
Full  well  they  laugh'd,  with  counterfeited  glee, 
At  all  his  jokes,  for  many  a  joke  bad  he  ; 
Full  well  the  busy  whisper  circling  round, 
Convey'd  the  dismal  tidings  when  he  frown'd. 
Yet  he  was  kind  ;  or,  if  severe  in  aught. 
The  love  he  bore  to  learning  was  in  fault. 
The  village  all  declared  how  much  he  knew  : 
'Twas  certain  he  could  write  and  cipher  too  ; 
Lands  he  could  measure,  terms  and  tides  presage ; 
And  e'en  the  story  ran  that  he  could  guage. 
In  arguing  too  the  parson  own'd  his  skill. 
For  e'en  tho'  vanquished,  he  could  argue  still ; 
While  words  of  learned  length,  and  thund'ring  sound 
Amaz'd  the  gazing  rustics  rang'd  around  ; 
And  still  they  gaz'd  ;  and  still  the  wonder  grew, 
Thnt  one  small  head  could  carry  all  he  knew  I 

But  past  is  all  his  fame  ;  the  very  spot 
Where  many  a  time  he  triumph'd,  is  forgot. 

JAMES   DELILLE,    1738 1813. 

James  Delille,  was  born  in  Auvignon,  in  1733,  educated  in  Paris, 
and  made  Professor  at  Amiens,  in  1760,  and  afterward  in  Paris, — 

*  Richard  Muloaster  was  born  at  Carlisle,  educated  at  Eton  under  Udal,  and  at  Kings' 
College,  Cambrldiie.  ami  Ctirist  Church.  Oxford. — rommenced  teaching  in  I'lyy,  and  appoint- 
ed first  master  of  Merchant  Tailors'  School  in  ISHI,  where  he  served  till  159C,  when  he  was 
made  upper  master  of  St.  Paul's  school,— dipd  In  1611.  He  was  a  severe  disciplinarian,  but 
reci  ived  many  marks  of  grateful  ri  sp^ct  from  his  pupils,  when  tluv  came  of  age  and  re- 
flected on  his  fidelity  and  care.  lie  was  a  good  Latin.  Greek,  and  Oriental  scholar.  His 
Latin  verses  spoken  on  the  occasion  of  one  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  vi.oils  to  Kenilworlh  Castle, 
are  considered  favorable  specimeiis  of  his  I  atinily  He  made  a  contribution  to  the  literature 
of  his  profession,  under  the  title  of— "PusiViVm*.  whprfin  those  primitive  Circumslanres  b» 
eonniflPTPd  which  are  necessary  fur  the  training  up  ofchildieii,  either  for  Skill  in  their  bookt. 
or  Heidth  in  their  Bodies.     London,  158L  " 


THE  POPULAR  SCHOOL  IN  LITERATURE.  40*7 

translated  Virgil's  Georgics  into  Frencla  verse,  and  afterward  composed 
an  original  work  of  the  same  character,  entitled  Jardins.  Driven 
from  France  by  the  revolutionary  outbreak,  he  afterward  resided  in 
Switzerland  and  Germany.  In  1 7  92,  he  published  the  Country  Gentle- 
men, {Homme  des  Champs,)  a  poem  in  five  cantos,  in  which  he  depicts 
country  life  in  various  characters  and  aspects — and  among  others,  that 
of  the  school  and  the  schoolmaster.  We  copy  the  last  in  an  English 
translation  by  John  Maunde,  Some  of  the  finest  strokes  are  borrowed 
from  Goldsmith's  picture — unless  both  are  copied  from  the  same 
original.     He  died  in  1813. 

THE    VILLAGE    SCHOOLMASTER. 

Descend,  my  muse,  nor  yet  debate  thy  strain. 

And  paint  the  pedant  of  the  village  train. 

Nor  that  suffice,  but  let  thy  prudent  lay 

Attach  due  honor  to  his  useful  sway. 

He  comes  at  length  in  consequential  state, 

And  self-importance  marks  his  solemn  gait. 

Read,  write,  and  count,  'tis  certain  he  can  do; 

Instruct  at  school,  and  sing  at  chapel  too  ; 

Foresee  the  changing  moon  and  tempest  dread. 

And  e'en  in  Latin  once  some  progress  made  : 

In  learned  disputes  still  firm  and  valiant  found. 

Though  vanquished,  still  he  scorns  to  quit  the  ground  ; 

Whilst,  wisely  used  to  gather  time  and  strength. 

His  crabbed  words  prolong  their  laggard  length. 

The  rustic  gaze  around,  and  scarce  suppose 

That  one  poor  brain  could  carry  all  he  knows. 

But  in  his  school,  to  each  neglect  severe, 

So  much  to  him  is  learning's  progress  dear. 

Comes  he  ?     Upon  his  smooth,  or  ruffled  brow, 

His  infant  tribe  their  destiny  may  know. 

He  nods,  they  part ;  again,  and  they  assemble  : 

Smiles,  if  he  laughs  ;  and  if  he  frowns,  they  tremble. 

He  soothes,  or  menaces,  as  best  befits, 

And  now  chastises,  or  he  now  acquits.       • 

E'en  when  away,  his  wary  subjects  fear. 

Lest  the  unseen  bird  should  whisper  in  his  ear 

Who  laughs,  or  talks,  or  slumbers  o'er  his  book, 

Or  from  what  hand  the  ball  his  visage  struck. 

Nor  distant  far  the  birch  is  seen  to  rise — 

The  birch,  that  heeds  not  their  imploring  cries. 

If  chance  the  breeze  its  boughs  should  lightly  shake 

With  pale  affright  the  puny  urchins  quake. 

Thus,  gentle  Chanonat,  beside  thy  bed,  , 

I've  touched  that  tree,  my  childhood's  friend  and  dread  j — 

That  w  illow-tree,  whose  tributary  spray 

Amid  my  stern  pedant  with  his  sceptered  sway. 

Such  is  the  master  of  the  village-school: 

Be  it  thy  care  to  dignify  his  rule. 

The  wise  man  learns  each  rank  to  appreciate  ; 

But  fools  alone  dc^^pise  the  humbler  state. 


408  I^E  POPULAR  SCHOOL  IN  LITERATURK. 

In  spite  of  pride,  in  office,  great  or  low, 
Be  modest  one,  and  one  importance  know, 
Be  by  himself  his  post  an  honor  deemed  ; 
He  must  esteem  himself  to  be  esteemed. 

ROBERT  LLOYD,    1733 — 1164 

Robert  Lloyd  was  born  in  London  in  1733.  His  father  was 
under-master  at  Westminster  School,  and  after  completing  his  educa- 
tion at  Cambridge,  became  usher  under  his  father,  without  bringing 
to  the  work  that  moral  fitness  and  love  for  teaching,  without  which  it 
becomes  intolerable  drudgery.  He  soon  left  the  occupation  in  disgust, 
and  tried  to  earn  a  subsistence  by  his  pen.     He  died  poor  in  1764. 

A   SCHOOr.  USHER. 

Were  I  at  once  empowered  to  show 
My  utmost  vengeance  on  my  foe, 
To  punish  with  extremest  vigor, 
I  should  inflict  no  penance  bigger. 
Than,  using  him  as  learnings'  tool, 
To  make  him  usher  in  a  school. 
For,  not  to  dwell  upon  the  toil 
Of  working  on  a  barren  soil. 
And  laboring  with  incessant  pains 
To  cultivate  a  blockhead's  brains, 
The  duties  there  but  ill-befit, 
The  love  of  letters  arts  or  wit. 

For  one,  it  hurts  me  to  the  soul, 
To  brook  confinement  or  control ; 
Still  to  be  pinioned  down  to  teach 
The  syntax  and  the  parts  of  speech  ; 
Or  perhaps  what  is  drudgery  worse, 
The  links  and  points,  and  rules  of  verse : 
To  deal  out  authors  by  retail, 
Like  penny  pots  of  Oxford  ale ; 
Oh'  tis  a  service  irksome  more. 
Then  tugging  at  a  slavish  oar ! 
Yet  such  his  task  a  dismal  truth, 
Who  watches  o'er  the  bent  of  youth. 
And  while  a  paltry  stipend  earning, 
He  sows  the  richest  seeds  of  learning, 
And  tills  their  minds  with  proper  care, 
And  sees  them  then  due  produce  bear; 
No  joys,  alas  !  his  toil  beguiles, 
His  own  is  fallow  all  the  while. 
"  Yet  still  he's  on  the  road,  you  say, 
Of  learning."    Why,  perhaps  he  may; 
But  turns  like  horses  in  a  mill, 
Nor  getting  on  nor  standing  still; 
For  little  way  his  learning  reaches, 
Who  reads  no  more  than  what  he  teacbet. 


THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  TEACHER  IN  LITERATURE. 


WILLIAM   SHENSTONE,    1714 — It 63. 

William  Shenstone  was  born  at  Leasowos,  in  the  parisli  of  Hales- 
Owen,  Shropshire,  in  1714.  He  was  taught  to  read  at  a  "dame 
school,"  the  house,  and  teacher  of  which,  have  been  immortalized  in 
his  poem  of  the  Schoolmistress — spent  four  years  at  Pembroke  Col- 
lege, Oxford, — and  then  impoverished  himself  in  embellisliing  a  small 
paternal  estate,  which  he  made  the  envy  of  men  of  wealth,  and  the 
admiration  of  men  of  taste.  His  poems,  essays,  and  lectures,  were 
collected  and  published  after  his  death,  which  occurred  in  1763.  His 
"Schoolmistress,"  a  descriptive  sketch  in  imitation  of  Spenser,  ranks 
in  poetry,  with  the  paintings  of  Teniers  and  Wilkie,  for  its  force  and 
truthfulness  to  nature,  as  well  as  its  quiet  humor. 

THE    SCHOOLMISTRESS.    (1.) 

Ah,  me  !   full  sorely  is  my  heart  forlorn, 
To  think  how  modest  worth  neglected  lies ; 
While  partial  fame  doth  with  her  blasts  adorn 
Such  deeds  alone  as  pride  and  pomp  disguise ; 
Deeds  of  ill-sort  and  mischievous  emprize  ; 
Lend  me  thy  clarion,  goddess  !  let  me  try 
To  sound  the  praise  of  merit  ere  it  dies  ; 
Such  as  I  oft  have  chanced  to  espy, 
Lost  in  the  dreary  shades  of  dull  obscurity. 

In  every  village  mark'd  with  little  spire. 
Embowered  in  tnies,  and  hardly  known  to  fame, 
.  There  dwells,  in  lowly  shed  and  mean  attire, 
A  matron  old,  whom  we  schoolmistress  name, 
Who  boasts  unruly  brats  with  birch  to  tame ; 
They  grieven  sore,  in  piteous  durance  pent, 
Awed  by  the  power  of  this  relentless  dame, 
And  oft-times,  on  vagaries  idly  bent, 
For  unkempt  hair,  or  task  unconn'd,  are  sorely  shent. 

And  all  in  sight  doth  rise  a  birchin  tree,  (2.) 
Which  learning  near  her  little  dome  did  stowe, 
Whilom  a  twig  of  small  regard  to  see, 
Though  now  so  wide  its  waving  branches  flow, 
And  work  the  simi)le  vassals  micklc  woe  ; 
For  not  a  wind  might  curl  the  leaves  that  blew. 
But  their  limbs  shudder'd,  and  their  pulse  beat  low 
And  as  they  looked,  they  found  their  horror  grew, 
And  shaped  it  into  rods,  and  tingled  at  the  view. 


410  THE  SCHOOLMISTRESS. 

So  have  I  seen  (who  has  not,  may  conceive) 
A  lifeless  phantom  near  a  garden  placed ; 
So  doth  it  wanton  birds  of  peace  bereave, 
Of  sport,  of  song,  of  pleasure,  of  repast ; 
They  start,  they  stare,  they  wheel,  they  look  aghast; 
Sad  servitude  !  such  comfortless  annoy 
May  no  bold  Briton's  riper  age  e'er  taste  ! 
Ne  superstition  clog  his  dance  of  joy, 
Ne  vision  empty,  vain,  his  native  bliss  destroy. 

Near  to  this  dome  is  found  a  patch  so  green, 
On  which  the  tribe  their  gambols  do  display  ; 
And  at  the  door  imprisoning  board  is  seen. 
Lest  weakly  wights  of  smaller  size  should  stray, 
Eager,  perdie,  to  bask,  in  sunny  day  ! 
The  noises  intermixed,  which  thence  resound. 
Do  learning's  little  tenement  betray  ; 
Where  sits  the  dame,  disguised  in  look  profound, 
And  eyes  her  fairy  throng,  and  turns  her  wheel  around. 

Her  cap,  far  whiter  than  the  driven  snow. 
Emblem  right  meet,  of  decency  does  yield ; 
Her  apron,  dyed  in  grain,  as  blue,  I  trowe, 
As  is  the  hare-bell  that  adorns  the  field; 
And  in  her  hand,  for  scepter,  she  does  wield 
Tway  birchen  sprays,  with  anxious  fears  entwined. 
With  dark  distrust,  and  sad  repentance  filled. 
And  steadfast  hate,  and  sharp  affliction  joined. 
And  fury  uncontrolled,  and  chastisement  unkind. 

Few  but  have  kenned,  in  semblance  meet  portrayed, 
The  childish  faces  of  old  Eol's  train ; 
Libs,  Notus,  Auster ;  these  in  frowns  arrayed. 
How  then  would  fare  on  earth,  or  sky,  or  main, 
Were  the  stern  god  to  give  his  slaves  the  rein  ? 
And  were  not  she  rebellious  breasts  to  quell. 
And  were  not  she  her  statutes  to  maintain. 
The  cot  no  more,  I  ween,  were  deemed  the  cell. 
Where  comely  peace  of  mind,  and  decent  order  dwell. 

A  russet  stole  was  o'er  her  shoulders  thrown ; 
A  russet  kirtle  fenced  the  nipping  air; 
'Twas  simple  russet,  but  it  was  her  own ; 
'Twas  her  own  country  bred  the  flock  so  fair ; 
'Twas  her  own  labor  did  the  fleece  prepare  ; 
And,  sooth  to  say  her  pupils,  ranged  around. 
Through  pious  awe,  did  term  it  passing  rare; 
For  they  in  gaping  wonderment  abound. 
And  think,  no  doubt,  she  been  the  greatest  wight  on  ground  ! 

Albeit  ne  flattery  did  corrupt  the  truth, 

Ne  pompous  title  did  debauch  her  ear ; 

Goody,  good-woman,  n'aunt,  forsooth. 

Or  dame,  the  sole  additions  she  did  hear  ; 

Yet  these  she  challenged,  these  she  held  right  dear; 

Ne  would  esteem  him  act  as  mought  behove. 


THE  SCHOOLMISTRESS. 

Who  should  not  honored  eld  with  these  revere  ; 
For  never  title  yet  so  mean  could  prove, 
But  there  was  eke  a  mind  that  did  that  title  love. 

One  ancient  hen  she  took  delight  to  feed, 
The  plodding  pattern  of  the  busy  dame  ; 
Which,  ever  and  anon,  impeled  by  need. 
Into  her  school,  begirt  with  chickens,  came  ! 
Such  favor  did  her  past  deportment  claim  ; 
And  if  neglect  had  lavished  on  the  ground 
Fragment  of  bread,  she  would  collect  the  same. 
For  well  she  knew,  and  quaintly  could  expound, 
What  sin  it  were  to  waste  the  smallest  crumb  she  found. 

Herbs,  too,  she  knew,  and  well  of  each  could  speak, 
That  in  her  garden  sipped  the  silvery  dew ; 
Where  no  vain  flower disclos'd  a  gawdy  streak; 
But  herbs  for  use  and  physic  not  a  few, 
Of  grey  renown,  within  those  borders  grew  ; 
The  tufted  basil,  pun-provoking  thyme. 
Fresh  baum,  and  mary-gold  of  cheerful  hue ; 
The  lowely  gill,  that  never  dares  to  climb; 
And  more  I  fain  would  sing,  disdaining  here  to  rhyme. 

Yet  euphrasy  may  not  be  left  unsung. 
That  gives  dim  eyes  to  wander  leagues  around, 
And  pungent  radish,  biting  infants  tongue  ; 
And  plantain  ribbed,  that  heals  the  reaper's  wound ; 
And  marjoram  sweet,  in  shepherd's  posie  found; 
And  lavender,  whose  spikes  of  azure  bloom 
Shall  be  ere-while  in  arid  bundles  bound. 
To  lurk  amidst  the  labors  of  her  loom. 
And  crown  her  kerchiefs  clean,  with  mickle  rare  perfume. 

And  here  trim  rosemarine,  that  whilom  crowned 
The  daintiest  garden  of  the  proudest  peer. 
Ere,  driven  from  its  envied  site,  it  found 
A  sacred  shelter  for  its  branches  here  ; 
Where  edged  with  gold  its  glittering  skirts  appear. 
O,  wassel  days  !  O,  customs  meet  and  well ! 
Ere  this  was  banished  from  its  lofty  sphere  ; 
Simplicity  then  sought  this  humble  cell, 
Nor  ever  would  she  more  with  thane  and  lordling  dwell. 

Here  oft  the  dame,  on  sabbath's  decent  eve, 
Hymn'd  such  psalms  as  Sternhold  forth  did  mete  ; 
If  winter  'twere,  she  to  her  hearth  did  cleave, 
But  in  her  garden  found  a  summer-seat  ; 
Sweet  melody  !  to  hear  her  then  repeat 
How  Israel's  sons,  beneath  a  foreign  king, 
While  taunting  foe-men  did  a  song  intreat, 
All  for  the  nonce,  untuning  every  string, 
Uphung  their  useless  lyres — small  heart  had  they  to  sing 

For  she  was  just,  and  friend  to  virtuous  lore, 
And  passed  much  time  in  truly  virtuous  deed; 
And  in  those  elfin  cars  would  oft  deplore 


411 


412  THE  SCHOOLMISTRESS. 

The  times  when  truth  by  popish  rage  did  bleed, 
And  torturous  death  was  true  devotion's  meed  ; 
And  simple  faith  in  iron  chains  did  mourn, 
That  nould  on  wooden  image  place  her  creed  ; 
And  lawny  saints  ii>  snioulderiii;;  flames  did  bum; 
Ah,  dearest  lord,  forefend,  thilk  days  should  e'er  return ! 

In  elbow-chair,  like  that  of  Scottish  stem 
By  the  sharp  tooth  of  cankering  eld  defaced. 
In  which,  when  he  receives  his  diadem. 
Our  sovereign  prince  and  liefest  liege  is  placed, 
The  matron  sate,  and  some  with  rank  she  graced, 
^  (The  source  of  children's  and  of  courtiers  pride  !) 

Redressed  affronts,  for  vile  affronts  there  passed  ; 
And  warned  them  not  the  fretful  to  deride. 
But  love  each  other  dear,  whatever  them  betide. 

Right  well  she  knew  each  temper  to  descry  ; 
To  thwart  the  proud,  and  the  submiss  to  raise  , 
Some  with  vile  copper-prize  exalt  on  high. 
And  some  entice  with  pittance  small  of  praise  , 
And  other  some  with  baleful  sprig  she  frays  ; 
Ee'n  absent,  she  the  reins  of  power  doth  hold. 
While  with  quaint  arts  the  giddy  crowd  she  sways  ; 
Forewarned  if  little  bird  their  pranks  behold, 
'Twill  whisper  in  her  ear,  and  all  the  scene  unfold. 

Lo  !  now  with  state  she  utters  the  command  ; 
Eftsoons  the  urchins  to  their  tasks  repair  ; 
Their  books  of  stature  small  they  take  in  hand. 
Which  with  pellucid  horn  secured  are,  (3.) 
To  save  from  fingers  wet  the  letters  fair; 
The  work  so  gay,  that  on  their  back  is  seen, 
St.  George's  high  achievments  does  declare ; 
On  which  thilk  wight,  that  has  y-gazing  been 
Kens  the  forth-coming  rod — unpleasing  sight,  I  ween  ! 

Ah  !  luckless  he,  and  born  beneath  the  beam 
Of  evil  star!  it  irks  me  whilst  I  write  ; 
As  erst  the*  bard  by  Mulla's  silver  stream, 
Oft  as  he  told  of  deadly,  dolorous  plight. 
Sighed  as  he  sung,  and  did  in  tears  indite. 
For,  brandishing  the  rod,  she  doth  begin 
To  loose  the  brogues,  (4.)  the  stripling's  late  delight ' 
And  down  they  drop  ;  appears  his  dainty  skin, 
Fair  as  the  furry -coat  of  whitest  erinilin. 

O,  ruthful  scene  !  when,  from  a  nook  obscure, 
His  little  sister  doth  his  peril  see  ; 
All  playful  as  she  sate,  she  grows  demure  ; 
She  finds  full  soon  her  wonted  spirits  flee  ; 
She  meditates  a  prayer  to  set  him  free  ; 
Nor  gentle  pardon  could  this  dame  deny 
(If  gentle  pardon  could  with  dames  agree) 
To  her  sad  grief  which  swells  in  either  eye, 
And  wrings  her  so  that  all  for  pity  she  could  die. 

•  Spenser. 


THE  SCHOOLMISTRESS.  413 

No  longer  can  she  now  her  shrieks  command, 
And  hardly  she  forbears,  through  awful  fear, 
To  rushen  forth,  and,  with  presumptuous  hand, 
To  stay  harsh  justice  in  his  mid  career. 
On  thee  she  calls,  on  thee,  her  parent  dear  ! 
fAh!  too  remote  to  ward  the  shameful  blow!) 
She  sees  no  kind  domestic  visage  near, 
And  soon  a  flood  of  tears  begins  to  flow, 
And  gives  a  loose  at  last  to  unavailing  woe. 

But,  ah!  what  pen  his  piteous  plight  may  trace? 
Or  what  device  his  loud  laments  explain? 
The  form  uncouth  of  his  disguised  face? 
The  pallid  hue  that  dyes  his  looks  amain? 
The  plenteous  shower  that  does  his  cheek  distain? 
When  he,  in  abject  wise,  implores  the  dame, 
Ne  hopeth  aught  of  sweet  reprieve  to  gain  ; 
Or  when  from  high  she  levels  well  her  aim. 
And,  through  the  thatch,  his  cries  each  falling  stroke  proclaim. 

The  other  tribe,  aghast,  with  sore  dismay. 
Attend,  and  conn  their  tasks  with  mickle  care  ; 
By  turns,  astonied  every  twig  survey, 
And  from' their  fellow's  hateful  wounds  beware, 
Knowing,  I  wist,  how  each  the  same  may  share  ; 
Till  fear  has  taught  them  a  performance  meet, 
And  to  the  well-known  chest  the  dame  repair. 
Whence  oft  with  sugared  cates  she  doth  them  greet, 
And  ginger-bread  y-rare  ;  now,  certes,  doubly  sweet. 

See  to  their  seats  they  hie  with  merry  glee. 
And  in  beseemly  order  sitten  there ; 
All  but  the  wight  of  flesh  y-galled  ;  he, 
Abhorreth  bench,  and  stool,  and  form,  and  chair ; 
(This  hand  in  mouth  y-fixed,  that  rends  his  hair  ;) 
And  eke  with  snubs  profound,  and  heaving  breast. 
Convulsions  intermitting,  does  declare 
His  grievous  wrong,  his  dame's  unjust  behest ; 
And  scorns  her  offered  love,  and  shuns  to  be  caressed 

His  face  besprent  with  liquid  crystal  shines. 
His  blooming  face,  that  seems  a  purple  flower. 
Which  low  to  earth  its  drooping  head  declines. 
All  smear'd  and  sullied  by  a  vernal  shower. 
O,  the  hard  bosoms  of  despotic  power ! 
All,  all  but  she,  the  author  of  his  shame. 
All,  all  but  she,  regret  this  mournful  hour ; 
Yet  hence  the  youth,  and  hence  the  flower,  shall  claim. 
If  so  I  deem  aright,  transcending  worth  and  fame. 

Behind  some  door,  in  melancholy  thought, 
Mindless  of  food,  he,  dreary  caitiff!  pines; 
Ne  for  his  fellows'  joyaunce  careth  aught, 
But  to  the  wind  all  meiiimcnt  resigns  ; 
And  deems  it  shame,  if  he  to  peace  inclines  ; 


414  THE  SCHOOLMISTRESS. 

And  many  a  s\illen  look  ascance  is  sent, 
Which  for  his  dame's  annoyance  he  designs  ; 
And  still  the  more  to  pleasure  him  she's  bent 
The  more  doth  he,  perverse,  her  havior  past  resent. 

Ah  me  !  how  much  I  fear  lest  pride  it  be  ! 
But  if  that  pride  it  be,  which  thus  inspires, 
Beware,  ye  dames,  with  nice  discernment  see, 
Ye  quench  not  too  the  sparks  of  nobler  fires  : 
Ah  !  better  far  than  all  the  muses'  lyres. 
All  coward  arts,  its  valor's  generous  heat ; 
The  firm  fixt  breast  which  fit  and  right  requires, 
Like  Vernon's  patriot  soul !  more  justly  great 
Than  craft  that  pimps  for  ill,  or  flowery  false  deceit. 

Yet,  nursed  with  skill,  what  dazzling  fruits  appear 
Ee'n  now  sagacious  foresight  points  to  show 
A  little  bench  of  heedless  bishops  here. 
And  there  a  chancellor  in  embryo, 
Or  bard  sublime,  if  Ijard  may  e'er  be  so, 
As  Milton,  (5.)  Shakspeare,  names  that  ne'er  shall  die  ! 
Though  now  lie  crawl  along  the  ground  so  low, 
Nor  weeting  how  the  muse  siiould  soar  on  high 
Wisheth,  poor  starveling  elf  I  his  paper  kite  may  fly. 

And  this  perhaps,  who,  censuring  the  design. 
Low  lays  the  house  which  that  of  cards  doth  build, 
Shall  Dennis  be  !  if  rigid  fate  incline. 
And  many  an  epic  to  his  rage  sliall  yield ; 
And  many  a  poet  quit  the  Aonian  field ; 
And,  soured  by  age,  profound  he  shall  appear, 
As  he  who  now  with  disdainful  fury  thrill'd 
Surveys  mine  work  ;  and  levels  many  a  sneer, 
And  furls  his  wrmkiy  front,  and  cries,  "  What  stuflF  is  here  ?" 

But  now  Dan  Phoebus  gains  the  middle  sky, 
And  liberty  unbars  her  prison-door  ; 
And  like  a  rushing  torrent  out  they  fly  ; 
And  now  the  grassy  cirque  had  covered  o'er 
With  boisterous  revel-rout  and  wild  uproar ; 
A  thousand  ways  in  wanton  rings  they  run. 
Heaven  shield  their  short-lived  pastimes,  I  implore* 
For  well  may  freedom  erst  so  dearly  won, 
Appear  to  British  elf  more  gladsome  than  the  sun. 

Enjoy,  poor  imps!  enjoy  your  sportive  trade. 
And  chase  gay  flies,  and  cull  the  fairest  flowers ; 
For  when  my  bones  in  grass-green  sods  are  laid, 
O,  never  may  ye  taste  more  careless  hours 
In  knightly  castle  or  in  ladies'  bowers. 
O,  vain  to  seek  delight  in  earthly  thing  ! 
But  most  in  courts,  where  proud  ambition  tovsers  ; 
Deluded  w  ight !  who  weens  fair  peace  can  spring 
Beneath  the  pompous  dome  of  kesar  or  of  king. 


THE  SCHOOLMISTRESS.  415 

See  in  each  sprite  some  various  bent  appear ! 
These  rudely  carol  most  incondite  lay  , 
Those,  sauntering  on  the  green,  with  jocund  leer 
Salute  the  stranger  passing  on  his  way  ; 
Some  builden  fragile  tenements  of  clay  ; 
Some  to  the  standing  lake  their  courses  bend, 
With  pebbles  smooth  at  duck  and  drake  to  play; 
Thilk  to  the  huxter's  savory  cottage  tend, 
In  pastry  kings  and  queens  the  allotted  mite  to  spend. 

Here  as  each  season  yields  a  different  store, 
Each  season's  stores  in  order  ranged  been  ; 
Apples  with  cabbage-net  y-covered  o'er. 
Galling  full  sore  the  unmoneyed  wight,  are  seen ; 
And  goose-b'rie  clad  in  livery  red  or  green, 
And  here,  of  lovely  dye,  the  Catharine  pear, 
Fine  pear,  as  lovely  for  thy  juice,  I  ween ; 
O,  may  no  wight  e'er  pennyless  come  there. 
Lest,  smit  with  ardent  love  he  pine  with  hopeless  care  ! 

See,  cherries  here,  ere  cherries  yet  abound. 
With  thread  so  white  in  tempting  posies  tied, 
Scattering,  like  blooming  maid,  their  glances  round. 
With  pampered  look  draw  little  eyes  aside, — 
And  must  be  bought,  though  penury  betide. 
The  plum  all  azure,  and  the  nut  all  brown. 
And  here  each  season  do  those  cakes  (  .)  abide, 
Whose  honored  names  *  the  inventive  city  own, 
Rendering  through  Britain's  isle  Salopia'sf  praises  known. 

Admired  Salopia  !  that  in  venial  pride 
Eyes  her  bright  form  in  Severn's  ambient  wave. 
Famed  for  her  loyal  cares  in  perils  tried. 
Her  daughters  lovely,  and  her  striplings  brave  : 
Ah  !  midst  the  rest,  may  flowers  adorn  his  grave 
Whose  art  did  first  these  dulcet  cates  display  ! 
A  motive  fair  to  learning's  imps  he  gave, 
Who  cheerless  o'er  her  darkling  region  stray  ; 
Till  reason's  morn  arise,  and  light  them  on  their  way. 


•  Shrew.sbury  cakes. 


t  Salopia,  Shrewsbury. 


416  ANiNOTATIONS  ON  SHENSTONE'S  SCHOOLMISTRESS. 


ANNOTATIONS. 
(1.)    The  Schoolmistress. 

Of  honest  Sarah  Lloyd,  "the  Schoohnistross  "  of  Shenstone,  whose  faithful  portrait 
ure  has  given  her  school  and  her  vocation,  with  all  its  interesting  details,  to  und)'ing 
fame,  we  have  had  in  this  country  but  few  representatives.  There  are  traditions 
among  us,  of  such  "  dame  schooi.s,"  and  such  l>ent  and  wrinkled  "  school-marms," 
but  the  female  teachers  of  our  primary  schools  belong  to  a  much  younger,  and  much 
prettier  class,  of  whom  "  Mary  Smith  "  in  Warren  Burton's  ■'  District  Schools  asit  was," 
is  a  charming  specimen.  But  the  universal  acceptance  by  successive  generations,  of  thia 
poem,  by  which  Shenstone  passes  into  the  list  of  the  living  authors  of  the  language, 
proves  that  the  sketch  was  drawn  from  life,  and  that  the  race  has  not  yet  died  out 
in  England  or  Scotland.     Gilfillan,  in  his  edition  of  Shenstone,  remarks  : 

"Almost  all  people  have  some  aged  crone  who  stands  to  them  in  the  light  through 
which  Shenstone  has  contemplated  honest  Sarah  Lloyd  ;  and  as  soon  as  she  appears 
on  his  page,  every  one  hails  her  as  an  old  acquaintance,  and  is  ready  to  prove,  by  her 
gown,  or  her  cap,  her  birch,  her  herbs,  or  her  devout  hatred  for  the  Pope,  that  she  an- 
swers to  his  ancient  preceptress — just  as  every  one  who  has  read  Goldsmith's  School- 
master in  the  "  Deserted  Village  "  is  ready  to  cry  out  "  that  is  my  old  teacher." 

"  We,  at  least,  never  can  read  Goldsmith's  lines  without  seeing  a  certain  worthy  old 
cfomiV,  long  since  dead,  with  his  two  wigs,  the  dun  for  ordinary,  and  the  black  for 
extra  occasions  ;  the  one  synonymous  with  frowns  and  flagellations,  and  the  other  with 
a  certain  snug  smile  which  sometimes  lay  all  day  on  his  face  and  spoke  of  a  projected 
jaunt,  or  a  quiet  evening  jug  of  punch, — with  his  sage  advice,  his  funny  stories,  at 
which  we  were  compelled  to  laugh,  his  smuggled  translations  discovered  by  us  some- 
times with  infinite  glee  in  his  neglected  desk,  the  warm  fatherly  interest  he  displayed 
now  and  then  in  his  famed  scholars,  and  the  severe  inimical  sarcasm,  (a  power  this 
in  which  he  peculiarly  excelled,)  which  he  drew  at  other  times  in  a  merciless  mesh 
around  the  victim  of  his  wrath  till  he  writhed  again.  Nor  can  we  take  up  Shenstone's 
poem  without  reviving  the  memory  of  an  elderly  dame,  now  many  years  at  rest,  with 
her  spectacles  on  her  nose,  her  cat  at  her  feet,  her  well-worn  torse,  (twisted  leather,) 
in  her  hand,  and  this  universal  apology  for  her  continued  flagellations  upon  her  lips,  the 
logic  of  which  her  pupils  were  never  able  exactly  to  comprehend,  "  If  ye  are  no  in  a  fault 
just  now,  ye're  sure  to  be't !"  And  we  are  certain  that  if  all  who  have  had  similar  expe- 
rience were  piling  each  a  stone  on  two  cairns,  {heaps  over  the  dead,)  erected  to  the  two 
ingenious  authors  who  have  impressed  and  represented  this  common  phase  of  human 
life,  they  would  soon  out  tower  the  i>yramids.  Shenstone's  "  Schoolmistress"  has  not 
indeed  the  point  and  condensation  of  Goldsmith's  "  Sclioolmaster,"  but  its  spirit  is  the 
same;  and  there  is  besides  about  it  a  certain,  soft,  warmslumberous  charm,  as  if  reflected 
from  the  good  dame's  kitchen  fire.     The  very  stanza  seems  murmuring  in  its  sleep." 

In  justice  to  the  "schoolmistress"  of  our  day — of  the  many  accomplished  young 
women,  "  in  whose  own  hearts  love,  hope  and  patience,  have  first  kept  school,"  now 
in  charge  of  the  "  Primary  "  and  "  District  Schools  "  of  our  country,  we  introduce 
the  following  sketch  of  "My  First  Teacher  "  from  the   "  District  School  as  it  was,"  * 

"  Mary  Smith  was  ray  first  teacher,  and  the  dearest  to  my  heart  I  ever  had.  She  was 
a  niece  of  Mrs.  Carter,  who  lived  in  the  nearest  house  on  the  way  to  school.  She  had 
visited  her  aunt  the  winter  before  ;  and  her  uncle  being  chosen  committee  for  the 
school  at  the  town  meeting  in  the  spring,  sent  immediately  to  her  home  in  Connecticut, 
and  engaged  her  to  teach  the  summer  school.  During  the  few  days  she  spent  at  his 
house,  she  had  shown  herself  peculiarly  qualified  to  interest,  and  to  gain  the  love  of 
children.     Some  of  the  neighbors,  too,  who  had  dropped  in  while  she  was  there,  were 

•  The  District  School  as  it  was,  Scenery-Showing,  and  other  Writings,  by 
Rev.  Warren  Burton.  This  little  volume  should  belong  to  every  teacher,  and  every  popular 
library,  for  its  faithful  portraiture  of  the  common  school  as  it  teas,  in  the  country  districts 
of  New  England,  and  for  its  many  excellent  suggestions  in  the  way  of  improvement. 


ANNOTATIONS  ON  SHENSTONE'S  SCHOOLMISTRESS.  417 

much  pleased  with  her  appearance.  She  had  taught  one  season  in  her  native  state ; 
and  that  she  succeeded  well,  Mr.  Carter  could  not  doubt.  He  preferred  her,  therefore, 
to  hundreds  near  by  ;  and  for  once  the  partiality  of  the  relative  proved  profitable  to  the 
district. 

Now  Mary  Smith  was  to  board  at  her  uncle's.  This  was  deemed  a  fortunate  cir- 
cumstance on  my  account,  as  sne  would  take  care  of  me  on  the  way,  which  was  need- 
ful to  my  inexperienced  childhood.  My  mother  led  rae  to  Mr.  Carter's,  to  commit  me 
to  ray  guardian  and  instructor  for  the  summer.  I  entertained  the  most  extravagant 
ideas  of  the  dignity  o{  the  school-keeping  vocation,  and  it  was  with  (rembling  reluct- 
ance that  I  drew  near  the  presence  of  so  lovely  a  creature  as  they  told  me  Mary 
Smith  was.  But  she  so  gently  took  my  quivering  little  hand,  and  so  tenderly  stooped 
and  kissed  my  cheek,  and  said  such  soothing  and  winning  words,  that  my  timidity  was 
gone  at  once. 

She  used  to  le.id  me  to  school  by  the  hand,  while  John  and  Sarah  Carter  gamboled 
on,  unless  I  chose  to  gambol  with  them  ;  but  the  first  day,  at  least,  I  kept  by  her  side.- 
All  her  demeanor  toward  me,  and  indeed  toward  us  all,  was  of  a  piece  with  her  first 
introduction.  She  called  me  to  her  to  read,  not  with  a  look  and  voice  as  if  she  were 
doing  a  duty  she  disliked,  and  was  determined  I  should  do  mine  too,  like  it  or  not,  as  is 
often  the  manner  of  teachers  ;  but  with  a  cheerful  smile  and  a  softening  eye,  as  if  she 
were  at  a  pastime,  and  wished  rae  to  partake  of  it. 

My  first  business  was  to  master  the  A  B  C,  and  no  small  achievement  it  was;  for 
many  a  little  learner  waddles  to  school  through  the  summer,  and  waddles  to  the  same 
through  the  winter,  before  he  accomplishes  it,  if  he  happens  to  be  taught  in  the  manner 
of  former  times.  This  might  have  been  my  lot,  had  it  not  been  for  Mary  Smith.  Few 
of  the  better  methods  of  teaching,  which  now  make  the  road  to  knowledge  so  much 
more  easy  and  pleasant,  had  then  found  their  way  out  of  or  into,  the  brain  of  the  ped- 
agogical vocation.  Mary  went  on  in  the  old  way  indeed ;  but  the  whole  exercise  was 
done  with  such  sweetness  on  her  part,  that  the  dilatory  and  usually  unpleasant  task 
was  to  me  a  pleasure,  and  consumed  not  so  much  precious  time  as  it  generally  does  in 
the  case  of  heads  as  stupid  as  mine.  By  the  close  of  that  summer,  the  alphabet  was 
securely  my  own.  That  hard,  and  to  me  unmeaning,  siring  of  sights  and  sounds,  were 
bound  forever  to  my  memory  by  the  ties  created  by  gentle  tones  and  looks. 

That  hardest  of  all  tasks,  sitting  becomingly  still,  was  rendered  easier  by  her  good- 
ness. When  I  grew  restless,  and  turned  from  side  to  side,  and  changed  from  posture 
to  posture,  in  search  of  relief  from  my  uncomfortableness,  she  spoke  words  of  sympa- 
thy rather  than  reproof.  Thus  I  was  won  to  be  as  quiet  as  1  could.  When  1  grew 
drowsy,  and  needed  but  a  comfortable  position  to  drop  into  sleep  and  forgetfulness  of 
the  weary  hours,  she  would  gently  lay  me  at  length  on  my  seal,  and  leave  me  just 
falling  to  slumber,  with  her  sweet  smile  the  last  thing  beheld  or  remembered. 

Thus  wore  away  my  first  summer  at  the  district  school.  As  I  look  back  on  it,  faintly 
traced  on  memory,  it  seems  like  a  beautiful  dream,  the  images  of  which  are  all  softness 
and  peace.  I  recollect  that,  when  the  last  day  came,  it  wais  not  one  of  lighl-hearted 
joy — it  was  one  of  sadness,  and  it  closed  in  tears.  I  was  now  obliged  to  stay 
at  home  in  solitude,  for  the  want  of  playmates,  and  in  weariness  of  the  passing  time, 
for  the  want  of  something  to  do;  as  there  was  no  particular  pleasure  in  saying  ABC 
all  alone,  with  no  Mary  Smith's  voice  and  looks  for  an  accompaniment.     *     * 

The  next  summer,  Mary  Smith  was  the  mistress  again.  She  gave  such  admirable 
satisfaction,  that  theje  was  but  one  unanimous  wish  that  she  should  be  re-engaged. 

Mary  was  the  same  sweet  angel  this  season  as  the  last.  I  did  not,  of  course,  need 
her  soothing  and  smiling  assiduity  as  before  ;  but  still  she  was  a  mother  to  me  in  ten- 
derness. She  was  forced  to  caution  us  younglings  pretty  often  ;  yet  it  was  done  with 
such  sweetness,  that  a  caution  from  her  was  as  effectual  as  would  be  a  frown,  and 
indeed  a  blow,  from  many  others.  At  least,  so  it  was  with  me.  She  used  to  resort  to 
various  severities  with  the  refractory  and  idle,  and  in  one  instance,  she  used  the 
ferule  ;  but  we  all  knew,  and  the  culprit  knew,  that  it  was  well  deserved. 

27 


413  ANNOTATIONS  ON  SIIENSTONE'S  SCHOOLMISTRESS. 

At  the  close  of  the  school,  there  was  a  deeper  sadness  in  our  hearts  than  on  the  last 
summer's  closing  day.  She  had  told  us  that  she  should  never  be  our  teacher  again, — 
•hould  probably  never  meet  many  of  us  again  in  this  world.  She  gave  us  much  parting 
advice  about  loving  and  obeying  God,  and  loving  and  doing  good  to  everj'body.  She 
sned  tears  as  she  talked  to  us,  and  that  made  our  own  flow  still  more.  When  we 
were  dismissed,  the  customary  and  giddy  laugh  was  not  heard.  Many  were  sobbing  with 
grief,  and  even  the  least  sensitive  were  softened  and  subdued  to  an  unusual  quietness. 

The  last  time  I  ever  saw  Mary  was  Sunday  evening,  on  my  way  home  from  meeting. 
As  we  passed-  Mr.  Carter's,  she  came  out  to  the  chaise  where  I  sat  between  my 
parents,  to  bid  us  good  by.  Oh,  that  last  kiss,  that  last  smile,  and  those  last  tones ! 
Never  shall  I  forget  them,  so  long  as  I  have  jwwer  to  remember  or  capacity  to  love. 
The  next  morning  she  left  for  her  native  town  ;  and  l)efore  another  summer  she  was 
married.  As  Mr.  Carter  soon  moved  from  our  neighborhood,  the  dear  instructress  never 
visited  it  again.     *     * 

There  was  one  circumstance  connected  with  the  history  of  summer  schools  of  so 
great  importance  to  little  folks,  that  it  must  not  be  omitted.  It  was  this.  The  mistress 
felt  obliged  to  give  little  books  to  all  her  pupils  on  the  closing  day  of  her  school.  Oth- 
erwise she  would  be  thought  stingy  and  half  the  good  she  had  done  during  the  sum- 
mer would  be  canceled  by  the  omission  of  the  expected  donations.  If  she  had  the 
least  generosity,  or  hoped  to  be  remembered  with  any  respect  and  affection,  she  must 
devote  a  week's  wages,  and  perhaps  more,  to  the  purchase  of  these  little  toy-books. 
My  first  present,  of  course,  was  from  Mary  Smith.  It  was  not  a  little  book  the  first 
Bummer,  but  it  was  something  that  pleased  me  more. 

The  last  day  of  the  school  had  arrived.  All,  as  I  have  somewhere  said  before,  were 
sad  that  it  was  now  to  finish.  My  only  solace  was  that  I  should  now  have  a  little 
book,  for  I  was  not  unmoved  in  the  general  expectation  that  prevailed.  After  the 
reading  and  spelling,  and  all  the  usu.ii  exercises  of  the  school,  were  over,  Mary  took 
from  her  desk  a  pile  of  the  glittering  little  things  we  were  looking  for.  What  beautiful 
covers, — red,  yellow,  blue,  green  !  Oh  !  not  the  first  buds  of  spring,  not  the  first  rose 
of  summer,  not  the  rising  moon,  nor  gorgeous  rainbow,  seemed  so  charming  as  that  first 
pile  of  books  now  spread  out  on  her  lap,  as  she  sat  in  her  chair  in  front  of  the  school. 
All  eyes  were  now  centered  on  the  outspread  treasures.  Admiration  and  expectation 
were  depicted  on  every  face.  Pleasure  glowed  in  every  heart ;  for  the  worst,  as  well 
as  the  best,  calculated  with  certainty  on  a  present.  What  a  beautifier  of  the  counte- 
nance agreealjle  emotions  are!  The  most  ugly  visaged  were  beautiful  now  with  the 
radiance  of  keen  anticipation.  The  scholars  were  called  out  one  by  one  to  receive  the 
dazzling  gifts  beginning  at  the  oldest.  I  being  an  abecedarian,  must  wait  till  the  last ; 
but  as  I  knew  that  my  turn  would  surely  come  in  due  order,  I  was  tolerably  patient. 
But  what  was  my  disappointment,  my  exceeding  bitterness  of  grief,  when  the  last  book 
on  Mary's  lap  was  given  away,  and  my  name  not  yet  called  !  Every  one  present  had 
received,  except  myself  and  two  others  of  the  ABC  rank.  I  felt  the  tears  starting  to 
my  eyes ;  my  lips  were  drawn  to  their  closest  pucker  to  hold  in  my  emotions  from 
audible  outcry.  I  heard  my  fellow-sufferer  at  my  side  draw  long  and  heavy  breaths, 
the  usual  preliminaries  to  the  bursting  out  of  grief.  This  feeling,  however,  was  but 
momentary  ;  for  Mary  immediately  said,  "  Charles  and  Henry  and  Susan,  you  may  now 
all  come  to  me  together;"  at  the  same  time  her  hand  was  put  into  her  work-bag.  We 
were  at  her  side  in  an  instant,  and  in  that  time  she  held  in  her  hand — what  ?  Not 
three  little  picture  books,  but  what  was  to  us  a  surprising  novelty,  viz.:  three  little  birds 
wrought  from  sugar  by  the  confectioner's  art.  I  had  never  seen  or  heard  or  dreamed  of 
such  a  thing.  What  a  revulsion  of  delighted  feeling  now  swelled  my  little  bosom  ! 
"If  I  should  give  you  books,"  said  Mary,  "you  could  not  read  them  at  present,  so  I 
have  got  for  you  what  you  will  like  better  perhaps,  and  there  will  be  time  enough  for 
you  to  have  lK>oks,  when  you  shall  be  able  to  read  them.  So,  take  these  little  birds, 
and  see  how  long  you  can  keep  them."  We  were  perfectly  satisfieil,  and  even  felt  our- 
selves distinguished  above  the  rest.     My  bird  was  more  to  me  than  all  the  songsters  ia 


->< 


ANNOTATIONS  ON  SHENSTONE'S  SCHOOLMISTRESS.  419 

the  air,  although  it  could  not  fly,  or  sing,  or  open  its  mouth.     I  kept  it  for  years,  until 
hy  accident  it  was  crushed  to  pieces,  and  was  no  longer  a  bird." 

It  must  be  confessed  that  all  the  "  schools  of  the  olden  time  "  in  New  England  were 
not  taught  by  "  Mary  Smiths,"  and  some  of  the  worthy  "  school-ma'ams,"  continued 
to  "  board  round  "  long  after  they  had  passed  out  of  "  their  teens."  The  following 
stanzas  which  were  first  published  in  the  Maine  Farmer,  describe  a  class  of  schools 
and  teachers,  which  many  graduates  of  common  schools  will  recognise  as  their  own. 
The  Schools — the  schools  of  other  days ! 

Those  were  the  schools  for  me  ; 
When,  in  a  frock  and  trousers  dressed, 
I  learned  my  a  B  c. 

When,  with  my  dinner  in  my  hat, 

I  trudged  away  to  school ; 
Nor  dared  to  stop,  as  boys  do  now, — 

For  school-ma'ams  had  a  rvle. 

With  locks  well  combed,  and  face  so  cleam, 

(Boys  washed  their  faces  then,) 
And  a  "  stick  horse  "  to  ride  upon — 

What  happy  little  men. 

And  if  a  traveler  we  met, 

We  threw  r>o  sticks  and  stones 
To  fright  the  horses  as  they  passed, 

Or  break  good  people's  bones. 

But,  with  our  hats  beneath  our  arms. 

We  bent  our  heads  full  low ; 
For  ne'er  the  school-ma'am  failed  to  ask, 
"  Boys,  did  you  make  a  bow  V 

And  all  the  little  girls  with  us 

Would  courtesy  full  low  ; 
And  hide  their  ankles  'neath  their  gowns — 

Girls  don't  have  ankles  now. 

We  stole  no  fruit,  nor  tangled  grass; 

We  played  no  noisy  games, 
And  when  we  spoke  to  older  folks. 

Put  hatidles  on  their  names. 

And  when  the  hour  for  school  had  come — 

Of  bell  we  had  no  need — 
The  school-ma'am's  rap  upon  the  glass 

Each  one  would  quickly  heed. 

The  school-ma'am — Heaven  bless  her  name- 
When  shall  we  meet  her  like  ? 

She  always  wore  a  green  calash, 
A  calico  Vandyke. 

She  never  sported  pantelets, 

No  silks  on  her  did  rustle  ; 
Her  dress  hung  gracefully  all  round — 

She  never  wore  a  bustle. 

With  modest  mien  and  loving  heart 

Her  daily  task  was  done, 
And,  true  as  needle  to  the  pole, 

The  next  one  was  begun. 


420  ANNOTATIONS  ON  SIIENSTONE'S  SCIIOOLMISTRESa 

The  days  were  all  alike  to  her, 

The  evenings  just  the  same. 
And  neither  brought  a  change  to  us 

Till  Saturday  forenoon  came. 

And  then  we  had  a  "  speMing  match," 

And  learned  the  soands  of  a — 
The  months  and  weeks  that  made  the  year. 

The  bours  that  naade  the  day. 

And  on  that  day  we  saw  her  smile — 

No  other  time  smiled  she — 
Twas  then  she  told  us  learnedly 

When  next  "leap-year "  would  be. 

Alas,  kind  soul,  though  leap-year  came 

And  went  full  many  a  time, 
In  "  single-blessedness  "  she  toiled 

Till  far  beyond  her  prime. 

But  now  indeed  her  toils  are  o'er. 

Her  lessons  all  are  said. 
Her  rules  well  learned,  her  words  well  spelled— 
She's  gone  up  to  the  head. 
We  now  return  to  our  English  authorities  for  the  character  and  social  standing  of 
the  schoolmistress  of  former  days. 

Henry  Kirke  White  thus  commemorates  the  "  village  matron,"  of  Nottingham. 
Mrs.  Gamngton,  who  introduced  him  into  the  mysteries  of  alphabetic  lore : 

In  yonder  cot,  along  whose  mouldering  walls, 

In  many  a  fold  the  mantling  wooilbine  falls. 

The  village  matron  kept  her  little  school — 

Gentle  of  heart,  yet  knowing  well  to  rule. 

Staid  was  the  dame,  and  modest  was  the  mien. 

Her  garb  was  coarse,  yet  whole  and  nicely  clean  ; 

Her  neatly  bordcr'd  cap,  as  lily  fair. 

Beneath  her  chin  was  pinn'd  with  decent  care  j 

And  pendant  niffTes  of  the  whitest  fawn^ 

Of  ancient  make  her  elbows  did  adorn. 

Faint  with  old  age,  and  dim  were  grown  her  eyes ; 

A  pair  of  spectacles  their  want  supplies. 

These  does  she  guard  secure  in  leather  case. 

From  thoughtless  wights  in  sonoe  unwe«ted  place. 
Here  firsS  I  entered,  though  with  toil  and  pain. 

The  low  vestibule  of  learning's  fane — 

Entered  with  pain,  yet  soon  I  found  the  way, 

Though  sometimes  toilsome,  many  a  sweet  display. 

Much  did  I  grieve  on  that  ill-fated  mom 

When  I  was  first  to  school  reluctant  borne  ; 

Severe  I  thought  the  dame,  though  oft  she  tried 

To  soothe  my  swelling  spirits  when  I  sighed, 

And  oft,  when  harshly  she  reproved,  I  wept — 

To  my  lone  corner  broken-hearted  crept — 

And  thought  of  tender  home,  where  anger  never  kept ; 

But,  soon  inured  to  alphabetic  toils. 

Alert  I  met  the  dame  with  jocund  smiles — 

First  at  the  form,  my  task  for  ever  true, 

A  little  favorite  rapidly  I  grew  ; 


ANNOTATIONS  ON  SIIENCTONE'S  SCHOOLMISTRESS.  42 1 

And  oft  she  strok'd  my  head,  with  fond  delight 
Held  me  a  pattern  to  the  dunce's  sighl ; 
And,  as  she  gave  my  diligence  its  praise. 
Talked  of  the  honors  of  my  future  days. 

Rkt  George  Crabbe,  the  poet  of  homely  life,  in  his  description  of  the  Borough, 
in  speaiiing  of  the  "  Poor  and  their  Dwellings,"  pays  a  passing  tribute  of  respect  and 
gratitude  to  his  first  teacher  : 

At  her  old  house,  her  dress,  her  air  the  same, 
I  see  mine  ancient  letter-loving  dame  : 
"  Learning,  my  child,"  said  she,  "  shall  fame  command  ; 
Learning  is  better  worth  than  house  or  land — 
For  houses  perish,  lands  are  gone  and  spent ; 
In  learning  then  excel,  for  that's  most  excellent." 

"And  what  her  learning  ?" — 'Tis  with  awe  to  look 
In  every  verse  throughout  one  sacred  book 
From  this  her  joy,  her  hope,  her  peace  is  sought  ; 
This  she  has  learned,  and  she  is  nobly  taught. 

If  aught  of  mine  have  gained  the  public  ear; 
If  Rutland  deigns  these  humble  Tales  to  hear. 
If  critics  pardon,  what  my  friends  approved  ; 
Can  I  mine  ancient  Widow  pass  unmoved? 
Shall  I  not  think  what  pains  the  matron  took, 
When  first  I  trembled  o'er  the  gilded  book  ? 
How  she,  all  patient,  both  at  eve  and  mom. 
Her  needle  pointed  at  the  guarding  horn  ; 
,  And  how  she  soothed  me,  when  with  study  sad, 
I  labored  on  to  reach  the  final  zad  ? 
Shall  I  not  grateful  still  the  dame  survey. 
And  ask  the  Muse  the  poet's  debt  to  pay  ? 

Nor  I  alone,  who  hold  a  trifler's  pen. 
But  half  our  bench  of  wealthy,  weighty  men, 
Who  rule  our  Borough,  who  enforce  our  laws; 
They  own  the  matron  as  the  leading  cause. 
And  feel  the  pleasing  debt,  and  pay  the  just  applause . 
To  her  own  house  is  borne  the  week's  supply  ; 
There  she  in  credit  lives,  there  hopes  in  peace  to  die. 
Again,  in  his  Parish  Register  he  gives  us  a  pleasing  picture  of  the  Good  School- 
mistress, out  of  school  hours : 

With  due  respect  and  joy, 

I  trace  the  matron  at  her  loved  employ  ; 

What  time  the  striplings  wearied  down  with  play. 

Part  at  the  closing  of  the  summers'  day. 

And  each  by  different  path  returned  the  well-known  way. 

Then  I  behold  her  at  the  cottage  door. 

Frugal  of  light ; — her  Bible  laid  before, 

When  on  her  double  duty  she  proceeds. 

Of  time  as  frugal ;  knitting  as  she  reads 

Her  idle  neighbors,  who  approach  to  tell 

Of  news  or  nothing,  she  by  looks  compels 

To  hear  reluctant,  while  the  lads  who  pass 

In  pure  respect  walk  silent  on  the  grass : 

Then  sinks  the  day,  but  not  to  rest  she  goes, 

Till  solemn  prayers  the  daily  duties  close. 


422  ANNOTATIONS  ON  SHENSTONE'S  SCHOOLMISTRESS. 

(2.)  "And  all  in  sight  doth  rise  a  birchen  tree." 
The  birch  has  attained  a  place  in  English  life  and  literature  hardly  surpassed  by 
any  other  tree.  It  figures  in  name  and  in  fact — in  prose  and  verse — in  matters  sacred 
and  profane.  Our  readers,  many  of  whom,  must  have  a  traditional  reverence  for  this 
emblem  of  magisterial  authority  in  the  school-room,  may  be  pleased  with  a  few'  of  the 
many  references  to  its  manifold  uses  and  virtues  as  described  by  the  classic  authors  of 
our  language,  as  well  as  with  specimens  of  the  wit  and  poetry  which  it  has  inspired. 

It  had  place  in  the  popular  festivities  of  May-day,  and  of  Mid-Summer's  Eve,  and 
Christmas.  Owen,  in  his  Welsh  Dictionary  AcftncsBedwen,  a  birch  tree,  by  "  a  May-pole, 
because  it  is  always  made  of  birch."  Stowe,  in  his  "  Survey  of  London,"  tells  us 
•'  that  on  the  vigil  of  St.  John  Baptist,  every  man's  door  being  shadowed  with  green 
birch,  long  fennel,  &c.,  garnished  w  ith  garlands  of  beautiful  flowers,  had  also  lamps  of 
glass  with  oil  burning  in  them  all  night."  Coles,  in  his  "  Adam  in  Eden,"  says — "I 
remember  once  as  1  rid  through  little  Brickhill  in  Buckinghamshire,  every  sign-post  in 
the  towne  almost,  was  bedecked  with  green  birch,"  on  Mid-Summer  Eve.  Coles 
quaintly  observes  among  the  civil  uses  of  the  birch  tree,  "the  punishment  of  children, 
both  at  home  and  at  school ;  for  il  hath  an  admirable  influence  on  them  when  they  are 
out  of  order,  and  therefore  some  call  it  make  peace."  In  some  sections,  on  Christmas 
Eve,  a  nicely  bound  bundle  of  birchen  twigs  w ith  one  end  immersed  in  cake  or  frosted 
sugar,  was  placed  in  the  stockings  of  naughty  boys. 

In  "  Whimsies,"  or  a  New  Cast  of  Characters,  (1631,)  mention  is  made  of  the  birch- 
pole,  as  having  been  set  up  before  ale-houses  for  a  sign, — as  a  bush  of  some  kind  was 
foimerly  hung  over  the  door  of  wine-shops, — whence  came  the  proverb,  "good  wine 
needs  no  bush." 

Pope  introduces  one  of  his  heroes  with 

"  His  beaver'd  brow  a  birchen  garland  bears." 
Roger  Ascham,  in  his  "Toxophilus  :  or  Schole  of  Shootinge,"  enumerates  it  among 
"the  kinde  of  wood,  whereof  the  shaft  is  made" — "being  both  strong  enough  to 
stand  in  a  bovve,  and  light  enough  to  fly  far."  Of  its  use  in  archery,  Spencer,  in  the 
"  Faerie  Queene,"  speaks  of  "  the  birch  for  shafts"  in  the  equipment  of  one  of  his 
characters. 

Shakspeare  has  not  forgot  its  disciplinary  use,  (m  Measure  for  Measure,  Act  /..  Sen.  2d.) 

"Now  as  fond  fathers. 

Having  bound  up  the  threatening  twigs  of  birch,  " 

Only  to  stick  it  in  their  childrens'  sight 
For  terror,  not  for  use  :  in  time  the  rod 
Becomes  more  mocked  than  used." 
The  scholastic  uses  of  the  birch  have  been  celebrated  not  only  in  occasional  stanzas, 
but  constitute  the  inspiration  and  burden  of  poems  devoted  exclusively  to  its  praise. 

Rev.  Henry  Layng.  Fellow  of  New  College,  Oxford,  published  in  1754,  Oxford,  a 
poem  entitled  "  The  Rod,  a  poem  in  three  cantos,  4to,  46  pages."  It  has  an  advertise- 
ment of  three  pages,  deprecating  the  imputation  of  any  personal  allusions  or  designs 
to  encourage  school  rebellions.  It  has  also  a  frontispiece,  representing  two  youths,  one 
standing,  the  other  sitting  on  a  form,  and  before  them  the  figure  of  an  ass,  erect  on  his 
hind  legs,  clothed  in  a  pallium  (the  dress  of  a  Doctor  at  Oxford.)  A  birch,  doctorial 
hat,  and  books,  lettered  Priscian  and  Lycophron,  form  the  base  ;  and  on  the  ribbon 
above  is  the  legend,  "An  ass  in  the  Greek  pallium  teaching." 

The  following  is  a  specimen  of  the  spirit  and  humor  of  the  poem,  being  a  description 
of  the  birch  tree. 

"  A  tree  there  is,  such  was  Apollo's  will, 
That  grows  uncultured  on  the  Muses'  Hill, 
Its  type  in  Heav'n  the  blest  Immortals  know, 
There  call'd  the  tree  of  Science,  Birch  below. 


ANNOTATIONS  ON  SHENSTONE'S  SCHOOLMISTRESS.  423 

These  characters  observ'd  thy  guide  shall  be. 
Unerring  guide  to  the  mysterious  free. 
Smooth  like  its  kindred  Poplar,  to  the  skies 
The  trunk  ascends  and  quivering  branches  rise; 
By  teeming  seeds  it  propagates  its  kind, 
And  with  the  year  renew'd  it  casts  the  rind  ; 
Pierc'd  by  the  matron's  hand,  her  bowl  it  fills, 
Scarce  yielding  to  the  vine's  nectareous  rills. 
Of  this  select  full  in  the  Moon's  eclipse. 
Of  equal  size  thrice  three  coeval  slips, 
Around  the  Osier's  flexile  band  entwine, 
And  all  their  force  in  strictest  union  join. 
Each  Muse  shall  o'er  her  favorite  twig  preside, 
Sacred  to  Phoebus,  let  their  band  be  tied  ; 
With  this  when  sloth  and  negligence  provoke, 
Thrice  let  thy  vengeful  arm  impress  the  stroke, 
Then  shalt  thou  hear  loud  clamors  rend  the  breast, 
Attentive  hear,  and  let  the  sound  be  blest ; 
So  when  the  priestess  at  the  Deljjhic  shrine, 
Roar'd  loud,  the  listening  votary  hail'd  the  sign." 
We  find  in  the  London  Notes  and  Queries — from  which  the  above  notice  and  extract 
18  taken,  the  following  lines. 

THE    BIRCH  :   A    POEM. 
Written  by  a   Youth  of  thirteen. 
Though  the  Oak  be  the  prince  and  the  pride  of  the  grove, 
The  emtAem  of  power  and  the  fav'rite  of  Jove  ; 
Though  Phosbus  his  temples  with  Laurel  has  bound, 
And  with  chaplets  of  Poplar  Alcides  is  crown'd ; 
Though  Pallas  the  Olive  has  graced  with  her  choice, 
And  old  mother  Cybel  in  Pines  may  rejoice, 
Yet  the  Muses  declare,  after  diligent  search, 
That  no  tree  can  be  found  to  compare  with  the  Birch. 

The  Birch,  they  affirm,  is  the  true  tree  of  knowledge, 
Revered  at  each  school  and  remember'd  at  college. 
Though  Virgil's  famed  tree  might  produce,  as  its  fruit, 
A  crop  of  vain  dreams,  and  strange  whims  on  each  shoot, 
Yet  the  Birch  on  each  bough,  on  the  top  of  each  switch. 
Bears  the  essence  of  grammar  and  eight  parts  of  speech. 
'Mongsl  the  leaves  are  conceal'd  more  than  mem'ry  can  mention, 
All  cases,  all  genders,  all  forms  of  declension. 

Nine  branches,  when  cropp'd  by  the  hands  of  the  Nine, 
And  duly  arranged  in  a  parallel  line, 
Tied  up  in  nine  folds  of  a  mystical  string 
And  soak'd  for  nine  days  in  cold  Helicon  spring, 
Form  a  sceptre  composed  for  a  pedagogue's  hand, 
Like  the  FaSces  of  Rome,  a  true  badge  of  command. 
The  sceptre  thus  finish'd,  like  Moses's  rod. 
From  flints  could  draw  tears,  and  give  life  to  a  clod. 
Should  darkness  Egyptian,  or  ignorance,  spread 
Their  clouds  o'er  the  mind,  or  envelop  the  head. 
The  rod,  thrice  applied,  puts  the  darkness  to  flight, 
Disperses  the  clouds,  and  restores  us  to  light. 
Like  the  Virga  Divina,  'twill  find  out  the  vein 
Where  lurks  the  rich  metal,  the  ore  of  the  brain, 


424  ANNOTATIONS  ON  SIIENSTONE'S  SCHOOLMISTRESS. 

Should  Genius  a  captive  in  sloth  be  confined, 
Or  the  witchcraft  o(  Plcastire  prevail  o'er  the  mind. 
This  magical  wand  Irat  apply — with  a  stroke, 
The  spell  is  dissolved,  the  enchantment  is  broke. 
Like  Hermes'  caduceus,  these  switches  inspire 
Rhetorical  thunder,  poetical  fire  : 
And  if  MorjAeus  our  temple  in  Lethe  should  steep, 
Their  touch  will  ontie  all  the  fetters  of  sleep. 

Here  dwells  strong  convjctiou — of  Logic  the  glory, 
When  applied  with  precision  a  posteriori. 
I've  known  a  short  lecture  most  strangely  prevail. 
When  duly  convey'd  to  the  head  through  the  tail ; 
Like  an  electrical  shock,  in  an  instant  'tis  spread. 
And  flies  with  a  jerk  from  the  tail  to  the  head  ; 
Promotes  circulation,  and  thrills  through  each  vein 
The  faculties  quickens,  and  purges  the  brain. 

By  sympathy  thus,  and  consent  of  the  parts, 
We  are  taught,  fundamentally  classics  and  arts. 

The  Birch,  a  priori,  applied  to  the  palm, 
Can  settle  disputes  and  a  passion  becalm. 
Whatever  disorders  prevail  in  the  blood, 
The  birch  can  correct  them,  like  guaiacum  wood: 
It  sweetens  the  juices,  corrects  our  ill  humors, 
Bad  habits  removes,  and  disperses  foul  tumors. 
When  applied  to  the  hand  it  can  cure  with  a  switch, 
Like  the  salve  of  old  Molyneux,  used  in  the  itch 
As  the  famed  rod  of  Circe  to  brutes  could  turn  men. 
So  the  twigs  of  the  Birch  can  unbrute  them  again. 
Like  the  wand  of  the  Sybil,  that  branch  of  pure  gold, 
These  sprays  can  the  gates  of  Elysium  unfold — 
The  Elysium  of  learning,  where  pleasures  abound, 
Those  sweets  that  still  flourish  on  classical  ground. 
Prometheus's  rod,  which,  mythologists  say, 
Fetch'd  fire  from  the  sun  to  give  life  to  his  clay, 
Was  a  rod  well  applied  his  men  to  inspire 
With  a  taste  for  the  arts,  and  their  genius  to  fire. 

This  bundle  of  rods  may  suggest  one  reflection. 
That  the  arts  w  ith  each  other  maintain  a  connection. 
Another  good  moral  this  bundle  of  switches 
Points  out  to  ovir  notice  and  silently  teaches  ; 
Of  peace  and  good  fellowship  these  are  a  token, 
For  the  twigs,  well  united,  can  scarcely  be  broken. 

Then,  if  such  are  its  virtues,  we'll  bow  to  the  tree, 
And  THE  Birch,  like  the  Muses,  immortal  shall  be." 
This  poem  was  written  by  Rev.  Thomas  Wilson,  B.  D.,  Head-master  of  Clitheroe 
Grammar  School,  Lancashire,  in  1784,  and  first  published  in  Adavi's  Weekly  Courant, 
July  25,  178G.     See  Notes  and  Queries,  Vol.  x.  p.  432. 

Hood,  in  his  whimsical  and  comic  stanzas  indulges  in  frequent  allusions  to  the 
school  where  he  "  was  birched,"  and  contrives  to  extract  some  sweet  out  of  the  bitter 
discipline  of  his  school  days  : 

"  Ay,  though  the  very  birch's  smart 
Should  mark  those  hours  again  ; 
I'd  kiss  the  rod,  and  be  resigned 
Beneath  the  stroke,  and  even  find 
Some  sugar  in  the  cane." 


ANNOTATIONS  ON  SHENSTONES  SCHOOLMISTRESS.  425 

(3.)     "  Their  books  of  stature  small  they  take  in  hand. 
Which  with  pellucid  horn  secured  are. 
To  save  from  fingers  wet  the  letters  fair." 
K    Hornbook  was  the  earliest  form  of  the  Pjimer — or   first  book  to  teach  children 
to  read — being  a  card  or  table,  set  in  a  frame,  on  which  the  letters  were  inscribed,  and 
covered  with  a  thin  plate  of  horn  to  prevent  the  paper  being   soiled,  and   thumbed   to 
pieces  by  rough  and  frequent  use. 

A  writer  in  "Notes  and  Queries,"  Vol.  III.  p.  151,  describes  a  Hornbook  in  the  British 
Museum,  as  follows  :  "  It  contains  on  one  side  the  '  Old  English  Alphabet ' — the  capi- 
tals in  two  lines,  the  small  letters  in  one.  The  fourth  line  contains  the  vowels  twice 
repeated,  (perhaps  to  doubly  impress  upon  the  pupil  the  necessity  of  learning  them.) 
Next  follow  in  two  columns,  our  ancient  companions,  'ab,  eb,  ib,'  &c.,  and  'ba,  be, 
hi,'  &c.  After  the  formula  of  exorcism  comes  the  '  Lord's  Prayer,'  (which  is  given 
somewhat  differently  to  our  present  version,)  winding  up  with  'i.  ii.  iii.  iv.  v.  vi.  vii 
viii  ix.  X.'     On  the  other  side  is  the  following  whimsical  piece  of  composition  : — 

"  What  more  could  be  wished  for,  even  by  a  literary  gourmand  under  the  Tudors,  than  to 
be  able  to  Read  and  Spell ;  To  repeat  that  holy  charm  before  which  fled  all  unholy  Ghosts, 
Goblins,  or  even  the  old  Gentleman  himself  to  the  very  bottom  of  the  Red  Sea,  and  to  say  that 
immortal  prayer,  which  sectires  heaven  to  all  who  e.xanimo  use  it,  and  those  mathejnatical 
powers,  by  knowing  units,  from  which  spring  countless  myriads"  ' 

Shakspeare,  in  "  Love's  Labor's  Lost,"  introduces  the  schoolmaster,  (Holofernes,) 
as  being  "  lettered  "  because   "  he  teaches  boys  the  hornbook." 

It  appears  from  a  stanza  of  Prior,  that  children  were  sometimes  served  with  a  horn- 
book, far  more  palatable  and  easily  digested  than  that  described  by  Shenstone. 
To  master  John  the  English  maid 
A  hornbook  gives  of  gingerbread  ; 
And,  that  the  child  may  learn  the  better, 
As  he  can  name,  he  eats  the  letter. 
Locke   was   one  of  the  earliest  English  writers  on  Education  to  recommend  the 
abandonment  of  hornbooks,  or  any  arrangement  of  the  letters  in  horizontal  or  perpen- 
dicular columns,  as  in  the  old  fashioned  Primers,  to  be  learned  by  the  direst  repetitions 
at  school,  for  some  game,  in  wiiich  the  letters  should  be  pasted  on  the  sides  of  the  dice, 
or  on  blocks,  and  that  the  shape  and  name  of  each  should  be  acquired  by  familiarity  at 
home. 

(4.)     "  To  loose  the  brogues,"  &c. 

The  word  brogue  is  used  in  Scotland  to  mean  a  coarse  kind  of  shoe,  stitched  together 
by  thongs  of  leather.  Shenstone  adopts  some  provincial  use  of  the  word  for  breeches. 
But  be  the  origin  of  the  word  what  it  may,  the  schoolmistress  was  not  the  first  or  last 
to  act  on  the  maxim — 

"  Spare  the  rod  and  spoil  the  child." 
Samuel   Butler  who  is  the  author  of  this    line  makes   the  hero  of  his    satirica* 
poem  say —  . 

'Whipping,  that's  virtue's  governess, 
Tutoress  of  Arts  and  Sciences; 
That  mends  the  gross  mistakes  of  nature. 
And  puts  new  life  into  dead  matter  ; 
Tiiat  lays  foundation  for  renown, 
And  all  the  heroes  of  the  gown." 
Hyron,  in  a  satirical  stanza  urges  the  unsparing  use  of  the  rod. 
"  Oh  ye  !  who  teach  the  ingenious  youth  of  nations, 
Holland,  France,  England,  Germany  or  Spain, 
I  pray  ye  flog  them  upon  all  occasions 
It  mends  their  morals,  never  mind  the  pain." 
No.  9.  [Vol.  Ill,  No.  2]— 30. 


426 


ANNOTATIONS  ON  SHENSTONE'S  SCHOOLMISTRESS. 


(5.)     '  A  Utile  hench  of  heedless  iiishops  here, 
And  there  a  chancellor  in  embryo, 
Or  bard  suliliuie,  if  bard  may  e'er  be  so, 
As  Milton,  Shakspeare — names  that  ne'er  shall  die,"  &c. 
These  lines,  are  thought  by  Mr.  D'Israeli,  to  have  suggested  to  Gray,  the  lines  in  nia 
Elegy- 
Some  mute  inglorious  Milton  here  may  rest, 
Some  Cromwell  guiltless  of  his  country's  blood,  &c. 
Chambers  thinks  the  conception  of  Shenstone — that  in  the  undeveloped  minds  of 
these  young  children   there  may  slumber  the  powers  of  poet  or  statesman  far   more 
natural,  than  that  of  Gray,  that  the  peasant  should  have  grown  up  to  be  a  man,  and  to 
have  gone  to  his  grave,  without  having  given  indications  of  the   existence   of   these 
powers. 

(6.)  Embowered  in  trees,  a?id  hardly  known  to  fame. 
There  dwells  in  lowly  shed,"  <!^-c. 
For  the  illustration  of  Sarah  Lloyd's  thatched  cottage,  near  Hales-Owen,  Shrop- 
shire, we  are  indebted  to  J.  P.  Jewett  &  Co.,  Boston,  the  pulilishers  of  "Rural  Poe- 
try," a  royal  octavo  volume  of  544  pages  of  the  best  poetry  which  has  been  inspired  by 
the  charms  of  nature,  the  occupations  of  the  garden  and  the  field,  and  the  genius  of 
domestic  life.  The  cut  is  copied  from  one  introduced  by  Shenstone  in  the  original 
edition  of  his  poem — which  was  printed  in  red  letter,  and  illustrated  by  designs  of  his 
own.  The  last  edition  published  by  Shenstone  contains  seven  stanzas  more  than  the 
first,  with  several  omissions  and  verbal  alterations.  To  the  first  edition  was  appended 
a  '^ludicrous  index,"  so  styled  by  Shenstone  himself,  in  one  of  his  letters,  "  purely  to 
show  fools  that  I  am  in  jest."  As  a  contribution  to  the  literature  of  Education,  we 
publish  this  Index,  from  .Mr.  D'Israeli's  Curiosities  of  Literature,  second  series." 

Stanza. 

Introduction, 1 

The  subject  proposed, 2 

A  circumstance  in  the  situation  of  the 

MANSION      OF      E.\RLY      DISCIPLINE, 


discovering  the  surprising  influence 
of  the  connections  of  ideas,     ...      3 

A  simile  ;  introducing  a  deprecation  of 
the  joyless  efl^ects  of  bigotry  and 
SUPERSTITION, 4 

Some  peculiarities  indicative  of  a  coun- 
try SCHOOL,  with  a  short  sketch  of 
the  SOVEREIGN  presiding  over  it,     .      5 

Some  account  of  her  night  cap, 
APRON,  and  a  tremendous  description 
of  her  BIRCHEN  sceptre,     ...       6 

A  parallel  instance  of  the  advantages  of 
LiiGAL  government  with  regard  to 
children  and  the  wind, 7 

Her  gown,     .  * 8 

Her  titles,  and  punctilious  nicety  in 
the  ceremonious  assertion  of  them,        9 

A  digression  concerning  her  hen's  pre- 
sumptuous behavior,  willi  a  circum- 
stance tending  to  give  the  ciutiiius 
reader  a  more  accurate  idea  of  the 
officious  diligence  and  economy  of  an 
old  woman, 10 

A  view  of  this  rural  potentate  as 
seated  in  her  chair  of  st;ite,  confer- 
ring fiONORs,  distnliuting  bounties, 
and  dispersing  proclamations,     .     10 

Her  policies, 17 

The  action  of  the  poem  commences 
with  a  general  summons,  follows  a 
particular  description   of  the   artful 


Stanza, 
structure,  decoration,   and  fortifica- 
tions of  an  horn-bible,     ....  18 

A  surprising  picture  of  sisterly  affection 
by  way  of  episode,  20,21 

A  short  list  of  the  methods  now  in  use 
to  avoid  a  whipping — which  neverthe- 
less follows 22 

The  force  of  example, 23 

A  sketch  of  the  particular  symptoms  of 
obstinacy  a.s  they  discover  themselves 
in  a  child,  with  a  simile  illustrating  a 
blubbered  face, 24,25,26 

A  hint  of  great  importance 27 

The  piety  of  the  poet  in  relation  to  that 
school-dame's  memory,  who  had  the 
first  formation  of  a  certain  patriot, 

[This  stanza  has  been  left  out  in  the  la- 
ter editions  ;  it  refers  to  the  Duke  of 
Argyle.] 

The  secret  connection  between  whip- 
ping and  rising  in  the  world, 
with  a  view  as  it  wore,  through  a  per- 
spective, of  the  same  little  folk 
ill  the  highest  posts  and  reputation,     28 

An  account  of  the  nature  of  an  EMBRYO 
fox-hunter,     

[Another  stanza  omitted.] 

A  deviation  to  an  huckster's  shop,     .      32 

Which  being  continued  for  the  s()ace  of 
three  stanzas,  gives  the  author  an  op- 
portunity of  paying  liis  compliments 
to  a  particular  county,  which  he  glad- 
ly seizes  ;  concluding  his  piece  with 
respectful  mention  of  the  ancient  and 
loyal  city  of  Shrewsbury.    .    .    . 


THE  SCHOOL  AND  TEACHER  IN  LITERATURE. 


THOMAS  GRAY.   1716 — 1711. 


Thomas  Gray,  of  all  English  poets  the  most  finished  artist,  was 
born  in  London,  in  I7l6,  and  was  the  only  one  of  twelve  children 
who  survived  the  period  of  infancy.  His  father  was  a  money- scrive- 
ner, and  of  hai-sh  and  violent  disposition,  whose  wife  was  forced  to 
separate  from  him;  and  to  the  exertions  of  this  excellent  woman,  as 
partner  with  her  sister  in  a  millinery  business,  the  poet  owed  the  ad- 
vantages of  a  learned  education,  toward  which  his  father  had  refused 
all  assistance.  He  was  sent  to  be  educated  at  Eton,  where  a  mater- 
nal uncle,  named  Antrobus,  was  one  of  the  assistant-masters.  He 
remained  here  six  years,  and  made  himself  a  good  classic ;  he  was  an 
intimate  associate  of  the  accomplished  Richard  West,  this  being  one 
of  the  most  interesting  school -friendships  on  record.  West  went  to 
Oxford,  whence  he  thus  wrote  to  Gray  : — 

"  You  use  me  very  cruelly :  you  have  sent  me  but  one  letter  since  I  have  been 
at  Oxford,  and  that  too  agreeable  not  to  make  me  sensible  how  great  my  loss  is 
in  not  having  more.  Next  to  seeing  you  is  the  pleasure  of  seeing  your  hand- 
writing ;  next  to  hearing  you  is  tlie  pleasure  of  hearing  from  you.  Really  and 
sincerely,  I  wonder  at  you,  that  you  thought  it  not  worth  while  to  answer  my 
last  letter.  I  hope  this  will  have  better  siiccess  in  behalf  of  your  quondam 
school-fellow;  in  behalf  of  one  who  has  wallced  hand  in  hand  with  you,  like  the 
two  children  in  the  wood, 

Thro'  many  a  flow'ry  path  and  shelly  grot. 
Where  learning  luU'ed  her  in  her  private  maze. 

The  very  thought,  you  see,  tips  my  pen  with  poetry,  and  brings  Eton  to  my 
view." 

Another  of  Gray's  associates  at  Eton  was  Horace  Walpole ;  they 
removed  together  to  Cambridge ;  Gray  resided  at  Peterhouse  from 
1V35  to  17.38,  when  he  left  without  a  degree.  The  spirit  of  Jacobit- 
ism  and  its  concomitant  hard-drinking,  which  then  prevailed  at  Cam- 
bridge, ill-suited  the  taste  of  Gray  ;  nor  did  the  uncommon  proficien- 
cy he  had  made  at  Eton  hold  first  rank,  for  he  complains  of  college 
impertinences,  and  the  endurance  of  lectures,  daily  and  hourly.  "Must 
I  pore  into  metaphysics?"  asks  Gray.  "Alas,  I  can  not  see  in  the 
dark ;  nature  has  not  furnished  me  with  the  optics  of  a  cat.  Must  I 
pore  upon  raathenr^tics?  Alas,  I  can  not  see  in  too  much  light ;  I  am 
no  eagle.     It  is  very  possible  that  two  and  two  make  four,  but  I  would 


428  THOMAS  GRAY. 

not  give  four  farthings  to  demonstrate  this  ever  so  clearly ;  and  if 
these  be  the  profits  of  life,  give  me  the  amusements  of  it."  Yet 
Gray  subsequently  much  regretted  that  he  had  never  applied  his  mind 
to  the  study  of  mathematics ;  and  once,  rather  late  in  life,  had  an 
intention  to  undertake  it.  His  time  at  Cambridge  was  devoted  to 
classics,  modern  languages,  and  poetry;  and  a  few  Latin  poems  and 
English  translations  were  made  by  him  at  this  period.  In  "  the 
agonies  of  leaving  college,"  he  complains  of  "  the  dust,  the  old  boxes, 
the  bedsteads,  and  tutors,"  that  were  about  his  ears.  "I  am  coming 
away,"  he  says,  "  all  so  fast,  and  leaving  behind  me,  without  the  least 
remorse,  all  the  beauties  of  Stourbridge  Fair.  Its  white  bears  may 
roar,  its  apes  may  wring  their  hands,  and  crocodiles  ciy  their  eyes 
out,  all's  one  for  that ;  I  shall  not  once  visit  them,  nor  so  much  as 
take  my  leave." 

In  a  letter  to  Mr.  West,  he  says :  "  I  learn  Italian  like  any  dragon, 
and  in  two  months  am  got  through  the  16th  Book  of  Tasso,  whom  I 
hold  in  great  admiration ;  I  want  you  to  learn  too,  that  I  may  know 
your  opinion  of  him ;  nothing  can  be  easier  than  that  language  to 
any  one  who  knows  Latin  and  French  already,  and  there  are  few  so 
copious  and  expressive.'' 

In  1739,  Gray  accompanied  Horace  Walpole  on  a  tour  through 
France  and  Italy ;  but,  as  they  could  not  agree,  Gray  being,  as  Wal- 
pole has  it,  "  too  serious  a  companion,"  the  former  returned  to  Eng- 
land in  l!741.  He  next  went  to  Cambridge,  to  take  his  degree  in 
Civil  Law.  He  now  devoted  himself  to  the  classics,  and  at  the  same 
time  cultivated  his  muse.  At  Cambridge  he  was  considered  an 
unduly  fastidious  man,  and  the  practical  jokes  and  "incivilities'' 
played  off  upon  him  by  his  fellow-inmates  at  Peterhouse — one  of 
which  was  a  false  alarm  of  fire,  through  which  he  descended  from 
liis  window  to  the  ground  by  a  rope — was  the  cause  of  his  migi'ating 
to  Pembroke  Hall.  He  subsequently  obtained  the  professorship  of 
Modern  History  in  the  University.  He  usually  passed  the  summer 
with  his  mother,  at  Stoke,  near  Eton,  in  which  picturesque  locality  he 
composed  his  two  most  celebrated  poems — the  Ode  on  a  Distant  Pros- 
pect of  Eton  College,  and  his  Elegy  written  in  a  Country.  Churchyard. 

Gray  continued  to  reside  at  Cambridge,  and  prosecuted  his  studies 
in  natural  history,  as  well  as  in  almost  every  department  of  learning, 
until  1771,  when  he  died,  and  was  buried,  according  to  his  desire,  by 
the  side  of  his  mother,  at  Stoke. 

There  scattered  oft,  tlie  earliest  of  the  year, 
By  liands  unseen,  are  showers  of  violets  found. 

The  little  red-bird  builds  and  warbles  there, 
And  fairy  foot-steps  lightly  print  the  ground. 


CRAY'S  ODE  ON  ETON  COLLEGE. 
ON  A  DISTANT   PROSPECT  OF   ETON   COLLEGE. 

Yk  distant  spires,  ye  antique  towers, 

That  crown  tLie  wat'ry  glade, 
Where  grateful  science  still  adores 

Her  Henry's  holy  shade  ; 
And  ye,  tliat  from  the  stately  brow 
Of  "Windsor's  heights  th'  expanse  below 
Of  grove,  of  lawn,  of  mead  survey, 

Whose  turf,  whose  shade,  whose  flowers  among 

Wanders  the  hoary  Thames  along 
.    His  silver  winding  way  ! 

Ah  happy  hills  !  ah  pleasing  shade  ! 

Ah  fields  beloved  in  vain. 
Where  once  my  careless  childhood  stray' d 

A  stranger  yet  to  pain  ! 
I  feel  the  gales  that  from  ye  blow 
A  momentary  bliss  bestow, 
As  waving  fresh  their  gladsome  wing, 

My  weary  soul  they  seem  to  sooth,  • 

And,  redolent  of  joy  and  youth, 
To  breathe  a  second  spring. 

Say,  Father  Thames,  for  thou  hast  seen 

Full  many  a  sprightly  race 
Disporting  on  thy  margent  green 

The  paths  of  pleasure  trace, 
Who  foremost  now  delight  to  cleave 
With  pliant  arm  thy  glassy  wave  ? 
The  captive  linnet  which  enthrall  ? 

What  idle  progeny  succeed 

To  chase  the  rolling  circle's  speed. 
Or  urge  the  flying  ball  ? 

While  some  on  earnest  business  bent 

Their  murmuring  labors  ply 
'Gainst  graver  hours,  that  bring  constraint 

To  sweeten  liberty : 
Some  bold  adventurers  disdain 
The  limits  of  their  little  reign, 
And  unknown  regions  dare  descry  : 

Still  as  they  run  they  look  behind, 

They  hear  a  voice  in  eveiy  wind, 
And  snatch  a  fearful  joy. 

Gay  hope  is  theirs,  by  fancy  fed. 

Less  pleasing  when  possest ; 
The  tear  forgot  as  soon  as  shed. 

The  sunshine  of  the  breast: 
Theirs  buxom  health  of  rosy  hue, 
Wild  wit,  invention  ever-new, 
•  And  lively  cheer  of  vigor  born  ; 

The  thoughtless  day,  the  easy  night, 

The  spirits  pure,  the  slumbers  light, 
That  fly  th'  approach  of  morn. 


429 


4J0  GRAY'S  ODE  ON  ETON  COLLEGE. 

Alas  !  regardless  of  their  doom, 

The  little  victims  play  ! 
No  sense  have  they  of  ills  to  come, 

Nor  care  beyond  to-day  : 
Yet  see  how  all  around  'em  wait 
The  Ministers  of  human  fate, 
And  black  Misfortune's  baleful  train  1 

Ah,  show  them  where  in  ambush  stand 

To  seize  their  prey  the  murth'rous  baud ; 
Ah,  tell  them  they  are  men  1 

These  shall  the  fury  Passions  tear. 

The  vultures  of  the  mind. 
Disdainful  Anger,  pallid  Fear, 

And  Shame  that  sculks  behind ; 
Or  pining  Love  shall  waste  their  youth, 
Or  Jealousy  with  rankling  tooth. 
That  inly  knaws  tlie  secret  heart. 
And  Envy  wan,  and  faded  Care, 
«  Grim-visaged  comfortless  Despair, 

And  Sorrow's  piercing  dart. 

Ambition  this  shjill  tempt  to  rise. 

Then  whirl  the  wretch  from  high. 
To  bitter  Scorn  a  sacrifice. 

And  grinning  Infamy. 
The  stings  of  Falsehood,  those  shall  try, 
And  hard  unkindness'  alter'd  eye. 
That  mocks  the  tear  it  forced  to  flow ; 
And  keen  Remorse  with  blood  defiled. 
And  moody  Madness  laughing  wild 
Amid  severest  woe. 

Lo,  in  the  vale  of  years  beneath 

A  griesly  troop  are  seen. 
The  painful  family  of  Death, 

More  hideous  than  their  Queen : 
This  racks  the  joints,  this  fires  the  veins, 
That  every  laboring  sinew  strains, 
Those  in  the  deeper  vitals  rage  : 

Lo,  Poverty,  to  fill  the  band. 

That  numbs  the  soul  with  icy  hand, 
And  slow-consuming  Age. 

To  each  his  suS'rings :  all  are  men. 

Condemn' d  alike  to  groan ; 
The  tender  for  another's  pain, 

Th'  unfeeling  for  his  own. 
Yet  ah  !  why  should  they  know  their  fate  I 
Since  sorrow  never  comes  too  late, 
And  happiness  too  swiftly  flies. 

Thought  would  destroy  their  paradise. 

No  more  ;  where  ignorance  is  bliss, 
'Tis  folly  to  be  wise. 


RAY'S  ALLIANCE  OF  EDUCATION  AND  GOVERNMENT.      43 1 

THE   ALLIANCE   OF   EDUCATION  AND    GOVERNIUSNT, 
A    FRAGMENT. 

As  sickly  plants  betray  a  niggard  earth, 

Whose  barren  bosom  starves  her  gen'rous  birth 

Not  genial  warmth,  nor  genial  juice  retains 

Tlieir  roots  to  feed,  and  fill  their  verdant  veins ; 

And  as  in  climes,  where  Winter  holds  his  reign, 

The  soil,  though  fertile,  will  not  teem  in  vain, 

Forbids  her  gems  to  swell,  her  shades  to  rise. 

Nor  trusts  her  blossoms  to  the  churlish  skies  : 

So  draw  mankind  in  vain  the  vital  airs, 

Unform'd,  unfriended,  by  those  kindly  cares, 

That  health  and  vigour  to  the  soul  impart. 

Spread  the  young  thought,  and  warm  the  opening  neart : 

So  fond  Instruction  on  the  growing  powers 

Of  nature  idly  lavishes  her  stores. 

If  equal  Justice  with  unclouded  face 

Smile  not  indulgent  on  the  rising  race. 

And  scatter  with  a  free,  though  frugal  hand 

Light  golden  showers  of  plenty  o'er  the  land: 

But  Tyranny  has  fix'd  her  empire  there, 

To  check  their  tender  hopes  with  chilling  fear, 

And  blast  the  blooming  promise  of  the  year. 

This  spacious  animated  scene  survey. 
From  where  the  rolling  orb,  that  gives  the  day, 
His  sable  sons  with  nearer  course  surrounds 
To  either  pole,  and  life's  remotest  bounds. 
How  rude  soe'er  th'  exterior  form  we  find, 
Hovve'er  opinion  tinge  the  varied  mind. 
Alike,  to  all  the  kind,  impartial  Heav'n 
The  sparks  of  truth  and  happiness  has  giv'n ; 
With  sense  to  feel,  with  memory  to  retain. 
They  follow  pleasure,  and  they  fly  from  pain  ; 
Their  judgment  mends  the  plan  their  fancy  draws, 
Th'  event  presages,  and  explores  the  cause ; 
The  soft  returns  of  gratitude  they  know, 
By  fraud  elude,  by  force  repel  the  foe  ; 
While  mutual  wishes,  mutual  woes  endear 
The  social  smile  and  sympathetic  tear. 

Say,  then,  through  ages  by  what  fate  confined 
To  different  climes  seem  different  souls  assign'd? 
Here  measured  laws  and  philosophic  ease 
Fix,  and  improve  the  polish'd  arts  of  peace. 
There  industry  and  gain  their  vigils  keep, 
Command  the  winds,  and  tame  th'  unwilling  deep. 
Here  force  and  hardy  deeds  of  blood  prevail ; 
There  languid  pleasure  sighs  in  every  gale. 
Oft  o'er  the  trembling  nations  from  afar 
Has  Scythia  breathed  the  living  cloud  of  war; 
And,  where  the  deluge  burst,  with  sweepy  sway 
Their  arms,  their  kings,  their  gods  were  roU'd  away. 
As  oft  have  issued,  host  impelling  host. 
The  blue-eyed  myriads  from  the  Baltic  coast. 
The  prostrate  South  to  the  destroyer  yields 
Her  boasted  titles  and  her  golden  fields  • 


4.12  GRAY'S  ALLIANCE  OF  EDUCATION  AND  GOVERNMENT. 

With  grim  delight  the  brood  of  winter  view 
A  brighter  day,  and  heavens  of  azure  hue, 
Scent  the  new  fragrance  of  the  breathing  rose, 
And  quaff  the  pendent  vintage  as  it  grows. 
Proud  of  the  yoke,  and  pliant  to  the  rod. 
Why  yet  does  Asia  dread  a  monarch's  nod, 
While  European  freedom  still  withstands 
Th'  encroaching  tide,  that  drowns  her  lessening  lands; 
And  sees  far  off  with  an  indignant  groan 
Her  native  plains,  and  empires  once  her  own. 
Can  opener  skies  and  suns  of  fiercer  flame 
O'erpower  the  fire  that  animates  our  frame ; 
As  lamps,  that  shed  at  eve  a  cheerful  ray, 
Fade  and  expire  beneath  the  eye  of  day  ? 
Need  we  the  influence  of  the  northern  star 
To  string  our  nerves  and  steel  our  hearts  to  war? 
And,  where  the  face  of  nature  laughs  around, 
Must  sick'ning  virtue  fly  the  tainted  ground? 
Unmanly  thought!  what  seasons  can  control. 
What  fancied  zone  can  circumscribe  the  soul, 
Who,  conscious  of  the  source  from  whence  she  springs, 
By  reason's  light,  on  resolution's  wings, 
Spite  of  her  frail  companion,  dauntless  goes 
■O'er  Lybia's  deserts  and  through  Zembla's  snows? 
She  bids  each  slumb'ring  energy  awake. 
Another  touch,  another  temper  take. 
Suspends  th'  inferior  laws,  that  rule  our  clay : 
The  stubborn  elements  confess  her  sway  ; 
Their  little  wants,  their  low  desires,  refine, 
And  raise  the  mortal  to  a  height  divine. 

Not  but  the  human  fabric  from  the  birth 
Imbibes  a  flavour  of  its  parent  earth. 
As  various  tracts  enforce  a  various  toil, 
The  manners  speak  the  idiom  of  their  soil. 
An  iron  race  the  mountain-cliffs  maintain. 
Foes  to  the  gentler  genius  of  the  plain : 
For  where  unwearied  sinews  must  be  found 
With  side-long  plough  to  quell  the  flinty  ground, 
To  turn  the  torrent's  swift-descending  flood. 
To  brave  the  savage  rushing  from  the  wood. 
What  wonder,  if  to  patient  valour  train'd 
They  guard  with  spirit,  what  by  strength  they  gain'd? 
And  while  their  rocky  ramparts  round  they  see, 
The  rough  abode  of  want  and  liberty, 
(As  lawless  force  from  confidence  will  grow) 
Insult  the  plenty  of  the  vales  below  ? 
What  wonder,  in  the  sultry  climes,  that  spread. 
Where  Nile  redundant  o'er  his  summer-bed 
From  his  broad  bosom  life  and  verdure  flings. 
And  broods  o'er  Egypt  with  his  wat'ry  wings, 
If  with  advent'rous  oar  and  ready  sail 
The  dusky  peojile  drive  before  the  gale ; 
Or  on  frail  floats  to  neighb'ring  cities  ride. 
That  rise  and  glitter  o'er  the  ambient  tide. 


THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  TEACHER  IN  LITERATURE. 


William:  cowper,     1731 — 1796. 

William  Cowper,*  the  most  popular  poet  of  his  generation  and 
the  best  of  English  letter-writers  was  the  son  of  Rev.  John  Cowper, 
D.D.,  rector  of  Great  Barkhampstead,  Herts,  and  was  born  at  the 
parsonage  house  in  1731.  His  mother  died  when  he  was  six  years 
old,  and  her  sweet  presence,  and  his  happy  childhood,  he  has  em- 
balmed forever  in  the  "  Lines"  suggested  by  his  mother's  picture,  a 
gift  from  his  cousin  later  in  life. 

"  Oh  that  those  lips  had  lang\iage !    Life  has  pass'd 

With  me  but  roughly  since  I  heard  thee  last. 

Those  lips  are  thine — thy  own  sweet  smile  I  see, 

The  same  that  oft  in  childhood  solaced  me ; 

Voice  only  fails,  else  how  distinct  they  say, 

'  Grieve  not,  my  child,  chase  all  thy  fears  away  !' 
****** 
My  mother  !  when  I  learn'd  that  thou  wast  dead, 

Say,  wast  thou  conscious  of  the  tears  I  shed^ 

I  heard  the  bell  toU'd  on  thy  burial  day, 

I  saw  the  hearse  that  bore  thee  slow  away, 

And,  turning  from  my  nursery  window,  drew 

A  long,  long  sigh,  and  wept  a  last  adieu! 

But  was  it  such  7 — It  was,— Where  thou  art  gone, 

Adieus  and  farewells  are  a  sound  unknown. 

May  I  but  meet  thee  on  that  peaceful  shore, 

The  parting  word  shall  pass  my  lips  no  more! 

Thy  maidens,  grieved  themselves  at  my  concern. 

Oft  gave  me  promise  of  thy  quick  return. 

What  ardently  I  wish'tl,  I  long  believed, 

And,  disappointed  still,  was  still  deceived. 

By  expectation  everyday  beguiled, 

Dupe  of  to-morrow  even  from  a  child. 

Thus  many  a  sad  tomorrow  came  and  went. 

Till,  all  my  stock  of  infant  sorrows  spent, 

I  learn'd  at  la,st  submission  to  my  lot. 

But,  though  I  less  deplored  thee,  ne'er  forgot. 
Where  once  we  dwelt  our  name  is  heard  no  more. 

Children  not  thine  have  trod  my  nursery  floor. 

And  where  the  gardener  Robin,  day  by  day, 

Drew  me  to  school  along  the  public  way, 

Delishted  with  my  bauble  coach,  and  wrapp'd 

In  scarlet  mantle  warm,  and  velvet-capp'd, 

'Tis  now  become  a  history  little  known. 

That  once  we  call'd  the  pastoral  house  our  own. 

Short-lived  possession  !  but  the  record  fair, 

Ihat  memory  keeps  of  all  thy  kindness  there, 

Still  outlives  many  a  storm,  that  has  effaced 

A  thousand  other  themes  less  deeply  traced. 

Thy  nightly  visits  to  my  chamber  made. 

That  thou  might'st  know  me  safe  and  warmly  laid  ; 

•  This  sketch  is  taken  substantially  from  Timb's  •'  Schoal-days  of  Eminent  Men." 

28 


434  WILLIAM  COWFER. 

Tliy  morning  bounties  ere  I  left  mj  home, 

The  biscuit,  or  confectionery  plum  ; 

The  frasrant  waters  on  my  cheeks  bestowM 

By  thy  own  hand,  till  fresh  they  t^hone  and  glovr'd: 

All  this,  and  more  endearing  still  than  all, 

Thy  eonstant  llow  of  loTe,  that  knew  no  falf, 

Ne'er  roughen' J  by  ihose  cataracts  and  breaks. 

That  humor  interposed  too  often  makes ; 

All  this  still  legible  in  memory's  page, 

And  stin  to  be  so  to  my  latest  age, 

Adds  joy  to  duty,  makes  me  glad  to  pay 

Such  honors  to  thee  as  my  numbers  may 

Perhaps  a  frail  memorial,  but  sincere. 

Not  scorn'd  in  heaven,  though  little  noticed  here." 

In  the  year  of  his  mother's  ».leath,  he  was,  as  he  himself  describes 
it,  "  taken  from  the  nursery,  and  from  the  immediate  care  of  a  most 
indulgent  mother,"  and  sent  out  of  his  father's  house  to  a  considerable 
school  kept  by  a  Dr.  Pitman,  at  Market-street.  Here  for  two  years 
he  suffered  much  from  ill  treatment  by  his  rough  companions:  his 
sensibility  and  delicate  health  were  the  objects  of  their  cruelty  and 
ridicule;  and  one  boy  so  relentlessly  persecuted  him  that  he  was 
expelled,  and  Cowper  was  removed  from  the  school.  Cowper  retained 
in  late  years  a  painful  recollection  of  the  terror  with  which  this  boy 
inspired  him.  "Ilis  savage  treatment  to  me,"  he  says,  "impressed 
such  a  dread  of  his  figure  on  my  mind,  that  I  well  remember  being 
afraid  to  lift  my  eyes  upon  hira  higher  than  his  knees;  and  that  I 
knew  him  better  by  his  shoe-buckle  than  by  any  other  part  of  his 
dress."  To  the  brutality  of  this  boy's  character,  and  the  general 
impression  left  upon  Cowper's  mind  by  the  tyranny  he  had  under- 
gone at  Dr.  Pitman's,  may  be  traced  Cowper's  prejudice  against  the 
whole  system  of  public  education,  so  forcibly  expressed  in  his  poem 
"called  "Tii'ocinium  ;  or,  a  Revieiv  of  Schools.^* 

About  this  time  Cowper  was  attacked  with  an  inflammation  in  the 
eyes,  and  was  placed  in  the  house  of  an  oculist,  where  he  remained 
two  years,  and  was  but  imperfectly  cured. 

At  the  end  of  this  time,  at  the  age  of  ten,  he  was  removed  to 
Westminster  School.  The  sudden  change  from  the  isolation  of  the 
oculist's  house  to  the  activity  of  a  large  public  school,  and  the  collis- 
ion with  its  variety  of  characters  and  tempers,  helped  to  feed  and 
foster  the  moods  of  dejection  to  which  Cowper  was  subject.  His 
constitutional  despondency  was  deepened  by  his  sense  of  solitude  in 
being  surrounded  by  strangers;  and  thus,  thrown  in  upon  himself, 
he  took  refuge  in  brooding  over  his  spiritual  condition.  This  tenden- 
cy had  first  manifested  itself  at  Dr.  Pitman's  school,  and  next  at 
Westminster.  Passing  one  evening  through  St.  Margaret's  church- 
yard, he  saw  a  light  glimmering,  at  a  distance  from  the  lantern  of  a 
grave-digger,  who,  as  Cowper  approached,  threw  up  a  skull  that  struck 


WILLIAM  COWPER.  435 

liim  on  the  leg.  "This  little  incident,"  he  observes,  "was  an  alarm 
to  my  conscience ;  for  the  event  may  be  remembered  among  the  best 
religious  documents  I  received  at  Westminster."  He  sought  hope 
in  religious  consolations,  and  then  hopekssly  abandoned  them  ;  and 
he  was  struck  with  lowness  of  spirits,  and  intimations  of  a  consump- 
tive habit,  which  the  watchful  sympathies  of  home  might  possibly 
have  averted  or  subdued. 

Nevertheless,  Cowper  appears  to  have  been  sufficiently  strong  and 
healthy  to  excel  at  cricket  and  football;  and  he  persevered  so  suc- 
cessfully in  his  studies,  that  he  stood  in  high  favor  with  the  master 
for  his  scholarship.  Looking  back  man}'  years  afterward  on  this 
part  of  his  life,  he  only  regretted  the  lack  of  his  religious  instruction. 
Latin  and  Greek,  he  complains,  were  all  that  he  acquired.  The  duty 
of  the  school-boy  absorbed  every  other,  with  the  single  exception  of 
the  periodical  preparations  for  confirmation,  to  which  we  find  this 
interesting  testimony  in  his  Letters: 

"  That  I  may  do  justice  to  the  place  of  my  education,  I  must  relate  one  mark 
of  religious  discipline,  which,  in  my  time,  was  observed  at  Westminster  5  I  mean 
the  pains  which  Dr.  Nichols  took  to  prepare  us  for  confirmation.  The  old  man 
acquitted  himself  of  this  duty  like  one  who  had  a  deep  sense  of  its  importance  5 
and  I  believe  most  of  us  were  struck  by  his  manner,  and  affected  by  his  ex- 
hortations." 

Cowper  translated  twenty  of  Vinny  Bourne's  poems  into  English, 
and  his  allusions  to  his  old  favorite  usher  of  the  fifth  form  at  West- 
minster are  frequent.* 

"  I  remember  (says  Cowper)  seeing  the  Duke  of  Richmond  set  fire  to  Vinny's 
greasy  locks,  and  box  his  ears  to  put  it  out  again."  And  again  writing  to  Mr. 
Rose,  Cowper  says :  "  I  shall  have  great  pleasure  in  taking  now  and  then  a  peep 
at  my  old  friend,  Vincent  Bourne  ;  the  neatest  of  all  men  in  his  versification, 
though,  when  I  was  under  his  ushership  at  Westminster,  the  most  slovenly  in 
his  person.  lie  was  .so  inattentive  to  his  boys,  and  so  indifferent  whether  tlicy 
brought  good  or  bad  exercises,  or  none  at  all,  that  he  seemed  determined,  as 
he  was  the  best,  so  he  should  be  the  last,  Latin  poet  of  the  Westminster  -Jine  j 
a  plot,  which  I  believe  he  exercised  very  successfully  ;  for  I  have  not  h.'ard  of 
any  one  who  has  at  all  deserved  to  be  compared  with  him."  Even  in  the  time 
of  his  last  illness,  we  find  that  Cowper's  dreary  thoughts  were,  for  the  moment, 
charmed  away  by  the  poems  of  his  old  favorite,  Vincent  Bourne. 

•  Vincent  or  Vinny  Bourne,  the  elegant  Latin  poet  and  usher  of  Westminister  School, 
where  he  was  educated,  died  in  1747.  Cowper  has  left  also  tliis  feeling  tribute  to  his  old 
tutor  :— 

"  I  love  the  memory  of  Vinny  Bourne.  I  think  him  a  better  Latin  poet  than  Tibullus, 
Prcpertius,  Ausonius,  or  any  of  the  writers  in  his  way,  except  Ovid,  and  not  at  all  inf  iioi  to 
him.  •  •  •  •  It  is  not  common  to  meet  with  an  author  who  can  make  you  smile,  and  yet  at 
nobody's  expense  ;  who  is  always  entertaining,  and  yet  always  harmless;  and  who,  though 
always  elegant,  and  classical  in  a  degree  not  always  found  even  in  the  classics  themselves, 
charms  more  by  the  simplicity  and  playfulness  of  his  ideas  than  by  the  neatness  and  purity 
of  his  verse  :  yet  such  was  poor  Vinny." 


TIROCINIUM;  OR,  A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS.* 

But  the  principal  thing  i?,  the  right  education  of  youth. — Plato. 

The  basis  of  every  state  is,  the  education  of  the  young. — Diog.  Laert. 

TO  THE  REV.   WILLIAM  CAWTHORNE  UN  WIN, 

RECTOR   OP   STOCK   IN   ESSEX,    THE   TtTTOR   OF   HIS   TWO    SONS,   THE    FOLLOWING   POEM,   RBC- 

OUMBNDINS   PRIVATE   TDITION     IN    PREFERENCE   TO    AN    EDUCATION   AT   SCHOOL,   IS 

INSCRIBED,   BY   HIS   AFFECTIONATE   FRIEND, 

Olney,  Nov.  6,  1784.  WILLIAM  COWPER. 


It  is  not  from  his  form  in  which  we  trace 
Strength  join'd  with  beauty,  dignity  with  grace, 
That  man,  the  master  of  this  globe,  derives 
His  right  of  empire  over  all  that  lives. 
That  form,  indeed,  the  associate  of  a  mind 
Vast  in  its  powers,  ethereal  in  its  kind. 
That  form,  the  labour  of  Almighty  skill, 
Framed  for  the  service  of  a  freeborn  will, 
Asserts  precedence,  and  bespeaks  control. 
But  borrows  all  its  grandeur  from  the  soul 
Hers  is  the  state,  the  splendour,  and  the  throne, 
An  intellectual  kingdom,  all  her  own. 
For  her  the  memory  fills  her  ample  page 
With  truths  pour'd  down  from  every  distant  age ; 
For  her  amasses  an  unbounded  store. 
The  wisdom  of  great  nations,  now  no  more; 
Though  laden,  not  encumber'd  with  her  spoil; 
Laborious,  yet  unconscious  of  her  toil ; 
When  copiously  supplied,  then  most  enlarged; 
Still  to  be  fed,  and  not  to  be  surcharged. 
For  her  the  Fancy,  roving  unconfined. 
The  present  muse  of  every  pensive  mind, 
Works  magic  wonders,  adds  a  brighter  hue 
To  nature's  scenes  than  Nature  ever  knew. 
At  her  command  winds  rise  and  waters  roar. 
Again  she  lays  them  slumbering  on  the  shore  ; 
With  flower  and  fruit  the  wilderness  supplies, 
Or  bids  the  rocks  in  ruder  pomp  arise. 
For  her  the  Judgment,  umpire  in  the  strife 
That  Grace  and  Nature  have  to  wage  through  life, 
Quick-sighted  arbiter  of  good  and  ill. 
Appointed  sage  preceptor  to  the  Will, 


'  In  this  poem  the  author  would  be  very  sorry  to  stand  suspected  of  having  aimed  his  cen- 
sure at  any  particular  school.  Ills  objections  are  such  as  naturally  apply  themselves  to 
schools  in  general.  If  there  were  not,  as  for  the  most  part  there  is,  willful  neglect  in  those 
who  manage  them,  and  an  omission  even  of  such  discipline  as  they  are  susceptible  of,  the 
objects  are  yet  too  numerous  for  minute  attention  :  and  the  aching  hearts  of  fen  thousand 
parents,  mourning  under  the  bitterest  of  all  disappointments,  attest  the  truth  of  the  allegation. 
His  quarrel,  therefore,  is  with  the  mischief  at  large,  and  not  with  any  particular  instance 
of  it. — Original  Preface. 


COWPER'S  TIROCINirM;  OR;  A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS.  437 

Condemns,  approves,  and  with  a  faithful  voice 
Guides  the  decision  of  a  doubtful  choice. 

Why  did  the  fiat  of  a  God  give  birth 
To  yon  fair  Sun  and  his  attendant  Earth? 
And,  when  descending  he  resigns  the  skies, 
Why  takes  the  gentler  Moon  her  turn  to  rise, 
Whom  Ocean  feels  through  all  his  countless  waves 
And  owns  her  power  on  every  shore  he  laves? 
Why  do  the  seasons  still  enrich  the  year, 
Fruitful  and  young  as  in  their  first  career? 
Spring  hangs  her  infant  blossoms  on  the  trees, 
Rock'd  in  the  cradle  of  the  western  breeze  ; 
Summer  in  haste  the  thriving  charge  receives 
Beneath  the  shade  of  her  expanded  leaves, 
Till  Autumn's  fiercer  heats  and  plenteous  dews 
Dye  them  at  last  in  all  their  glowing  hues. — 
'Twere  wild  profusion  all,  and  bootless  waste, 
Power  miseuiploy'd,  munificence  misplaced. 
Had  not  its  Author  dignified  the  plan. 
And  crown'd  it  with  the  majesty  of  man. 
Thus  form'd,  thus  placed,  intelligent,  and  taught, 
Look  where  he  will,  the  wonders  God  has  wrought, 
The  wildest  scorner  of  his  Maker's  laws 
Finds  in  a  sober  moment  time  to  pause, 
"To  press  the  important  question  on  his  heart, 
"Why  form'd  at  all,  and  wherefore  as  thou  art?" 
If  man  be  what  he  seems,  this  hour  a  slave, 
The  next  mere  dust  and  ashes  in  the  grave ; 
Endued  with  reason  only  to  descry 
His  crimes  and  follies  with  an  aching  eye; 
With  passions,  just  that  he  may  prove,  with  pain. 
The  force  he  spends  against  their  fury  vain  ; 
And  if,  soon  after  having  burnt,  by  turns. 
With  every  lust  with  which  frail  Nature  burns. 
His  being  end  where  death  dissolves  the  bond. 
The  tomb  take  all,  and  all  be  blank  beyond; 
Then  he,  of  all  that  Nature  has  brought  forth, 
Stands  self-impeach'd  the  creature  of  least  worth. 
And,  useless  while  he  lives,  and  when  he  dies. 
Brings  into  doubt  the  wisdom  of  the  skies. 

Truths  that  the  learn'd  pursue  with  eager  thought 
Are  not  important  always  as  dear-bought, 
Proving  at  last,  though  told  in  pompous  strains, 
A  childish  waste  of  philosophic  pains ; 
But  truths  on  which  depends  our  main  concern, 
That  'tis  our  shame  and  misery  not  to  learn. 
Shine  by  the  side  of  every  path  we  tread 
With  such  a  luster,  he  that  runs  may  read. 
'Tis  true  that,  if  to  trifle  life  away 
Down  to  the  sunset  of  their  latest  day. 
Then  perish  on  futurity's  wide  shore 
Like  fleeting  exhalations,  found  no  more, 
Were  all  that  heaven  required  of  human  kind. 
And  all  the  plan  their  destiny  design'd. 
What  none  could  reverence  all  might  justly  blame. 
And  man  would  breathe  but  for  his  Maker's  shame. 


4S8  COWFERS  TIROCIMUM  |  -OR,  A  REVIEW  OP  9CBOOLS. 

But  reason  heard,  ami  nature  well  perused. 
At  once  the  dreaming  mind  is  disabused. 
If  all  we  find  possessing  earth,  sea,  air, 
Reflect  his  attributes  who  placed  them  there, 
Fullfil  the  pu-rpose,  and  a[.>pear  design 'd 
Proofs  of  the  wisdom  of  the  aH-seeing  mind, 
Tis  plain  the  creature,  whom  he  chose  to  invest 
"With  kingship  and  dominion  o'er  the  rest. 
Received  his  nobler  nature,  and  was  made 
Fit  for  the  power  in  which  he  stands  arrayed; 
That  first,  or  last,  hereafter,  if  not  here, 
He  too  might  make  his  author's  wisdom  clear. 
Praise  him  on  earth,  or  obstinately  dumb, 
Suffer  his  justice  in  a  world  to  come. 
This  once  believed,  'twere  logic  naisapplied 
To  prove  a  consequence  by  none  denied. 
That  we  are  bound  to  cast  the  minds  of  youih 
Betimes  into  the  mould  of  heavenly  truth, 
Tnat  taught  of  God  they  may  indeed  be  wise. 
Nor  ignoranlly  wandering  miss  the  skies. 

In  early  days  the  conscience  has  in  most 
A  quickness,  which  in  later  life  is  lost: 
Preserved  from  guilt  by  salutary  fears. 
Or  guilty  soon  relenting  into  tears. 
Too  careless  often,  as  our  years  proceed. 
What  friends  we  sort  with,  or  what  books  we  read. 
Our  parents  yet  exert  a  prudent  care 
To  feed  our  infant  minds  with  proper  fare; 
And  wisely  store  the  nursery  by  degrees 
With  wholesome  learning,  yet  acquired  with  ease. 
Neatly  secured  from  being  soil'd  or  torn 
Beneath  a  pane  of  tbin  translucent  horn, 
A  book  (to  please  us  at  a  tender  age 
'Tis  call'd  a  book,  though  but  a  single  page) 
Presents  the  prayer  the  Saviour  deign'd  to  teach. 
Which  children  use,  and  parsons — when  they  preach. 
Lisping  our  syllables,  we  scramble  next 
Through  moral  narrative,  or  sacred  text ; 
And  learn  with  wonder  how  this  world  began. 
Who  made,  who  raarr'd,  and  who  has  ransom'd  man  : 
Points  which,  unless  ih-e  Scripture  made  them  plain. 
The  wisest  heads  might  agitate  in  vsiin.. 

0  thou,  whom,  borne  on  Fancy's  eivger  wing 
Back  to  the  season  of  life's  happy  spring, 

1  pleased  romember,  and,  while  memory  yet 
Holds  fast  her  office  here,  can  ne'er  forget ; 
Ingenious  dreamer,  in  whose  well-told  tale 
Sweet  fiction  and  sweet  truth*  alike  prevail; 
Whose  humorous  vein,  strong  sense,  and  simple  style 
May  teach  the  gayest,  n>ake  the  gravest  smile  ; 
Witty,  and  well  employ'd,  and,  like  thy  Lord, 
Speaking  in  parables  his  slighted  word  ; 

I  name  thee  not,  lest  so  despised  a  name 
Should  move  a  sneer  at  thy  deserved  fame ; 
Yet  e'en  in  transitory  life's  late  day, 
That  mingles  all  my  brown  with  sober  gray. 


COWPERS  TIROCINIUM;  OR,  A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS,  439 

Revere  the  man  whose  Pilgeim  marks  the  road, 

And  guides  the  Progress  oi  the  soul  to  God. 

'Twere  weli  with  most,  if  hooks  that  could  engage 

Their  childhood  pleased  them  at  a  riper  age  ; 

The  man,  approving  what  had  churni'd  the  boy. 

Would  die  at  last  in  comfort,  peace,  and  joy. 

And  not  with  curses  on  his  heart,  who  stole 

The  gem  of  truth  from  his  unguarded  souL 

The  stamp  of  artless  piety,  impress 'd 

By  kind  tuition  on  his  yielding  breast. 

The  youth,  now  bearded  and  yet  pert  and  raw, 

Regards  w  ith  scorn,  though  one*  received  with  awe ; 

And  warp'd  into  tiie  labyrinth  of  lies, 

That  babblers,  call'd  philosophers,  devise. 

Blasphemes  his  creed,  as  founded  on  a  plan 

Replete  with  dreams,  unvvorlJiy  of  a  man. 

Touch  but  his  nature  in  its  ailing  part, 

Assert  the  native  evil  of  his  heart. 

His  pride  resents  the  charge,  although  the  proof* 

Rise  in  his  forehead,  and  seem  rank  enough: 

Point  to  the  cure,  describe  a  Saviour's  cross 

As  God's  expedient  to  retrieve  his  loss, 

The  young  apostate  sickens  at  the  view. 

And  hates  it  with  the  malice  of  a  Jew, 

How  weak  the  barrier  of  mere  nature  proves, 
Opposed  against  the  pleasures  Nature  loves'. 
While  self-betray 'd,  and  willfully  undone. 
She  longs  to  yield,  no  sooner  vvooM  than  won. 
Try  now  the  merits  of  this  blest  exchange 
Of  modest  truth  for  wit's  eccentric  range. 
Time  was,  he  closed  as  he  began  the  day. 
With  decent  duty,  not  ashamed  to  pray  ; 
The  practice  was  a  Iwnd  upon  his  heart, 
A  pledge  he  gave  for  a  consistent  part ; 
Nor  could  he  dare  pteswmptisously  displease 
A  power,  confess'd  so  lately  on  his  knees. 
But  now  farewell  all  legendary  tales, 
The  shadows  fly.  philosophy  prevails  ; 
Prayer  to  the  winds,  and  caution  to  the  waves  ; 
Religion  makes  the  free  by  nature  slaves. 
Priests  have  invented,  and  the  world  admired 
What  knavish  priests  promulgate  as  inspired, 
Till  Reason,  now  no  longer  overawed. 
Resumes  her  powers,  and  spurns  the  clumsy  fraud  ; 
And,  common  sense  diffusing  real  day, 
The  meteor  of  the  Gospel  dies  away. 
Such  rhapsodies  our  shrewd  discerning  youth 
Learn  from  expert  inquirers  after  truth; 
Whose  only  care,  might  truth  presume  to  speak. 
Is  not  to  find  what  they  profess  to  seek. 
And  thus,  weil  tutor'd  only  while  we  share 
A  mother's  lect\ires  and  a  nurse's  care ; 
And  taught  at  schools  nuich  mythologic  stuff,t 
But  sound  religion  sparingly  enough  ; 

•See2C1iron.  xxvi.  19. 

tThe  author  begs  leave  to  explain.— Sensible  that,  without  such  knowledge,  neither  the  an- 


440  COWPERS  TIROCIXIV'M;  OR,  A  REVIEW  Of  SCJIOOLa 

Our  earlj'  notices  of  truth,  disgraced, 

Soon  loose  their  credit,  and  arc  all  effaced. 

Would  you  your  son  should  be  a  sot  or  dunce, 

Lascivious,  headstrong,  or  all  these  at  once  ; 

That  in  good  time  the  stripling's  fiuish'd  taste 

For  loose  expense  and  fashionable  waste 

Should  prove  your  ruin,  and  his  own  at  last ; 

Train  hien  in  public  with  a  mob  of  boys, 

Childish  in  mischief  only  and  in  noise, 

Else  of  a  mannish  growth,  and  five  in  ten 

In  infidelity  and  lewdness  men. 

There  shall  he  learn,  ere  sixteen  winters  old, 

That  authors  are  most  useful  pawn'd  or  sold ; 

That  pedantry  is  all  that  schools  impart. 

But  taverns  teach  the  knowledge  of  the  heart; 

There  waiter  Dick,  with  bacchanalian  lays, 

Shall  win  his  heart,  and  have  his  drunken  praise, 

His  counsellor  and  bosom  friend  shall  prove, 

And  some  street-pacing  harlot  bis  first  love. 

Schools,  unless  discipline  were  doubly  strong. 

Detain  their  adolescent  charge  too  long  ; 

The  management  of  tiros  of  eighteen 

Is  difllcult,  their  punishment  obscene. 

The  stout  tall  captain,  whose  superior  size 

The  minor  heroes  view  with  envious  eyes, 

Becomes  their  pattern,  upon  whom  they  fix 

Their  whole  attention,  and  ape  all  his  tricks. 

His  pride,  that  scorns  to  obey  or  to  submit, 

With  them  is  courage;  his  effrontery  wit. 

His  wild  excursions,  window-breaking  feats, 

Robbery  of  gardens,  quarrels  in  the  streets. 

His  hairbreadth  'scapes,  and  all  his  daring  schemes, 

Transport  them,  and  are  made  their  favourite  themes. 

In  little  bosoms  such  achievments  strike 

A  kindred  spark  :  they  burn  to  do  the  like. 

Thus,  half  accomplish'd  ere  he  yet  begin 

To  show  the  peeping  down  upon  his  chin ; 

And,  as  maturity  of  years  comes  on, 

Made  just  the  adept  that  you  design'd  your  son  ; 

To  ensure  the  perseverence  of  his  course, 

And  give  your  monstrous  project  all  its  force. 

Send  him  to  college.     If  he  there  be  tamed. 

Or  in  one  article  of  vice  reclaim'd, 

Where  no  regard  of  ordinances  is  shown 

Or  look'd  for  now,  the  fault  must  be  his  own. 

Some  sneaking  virtue  lurks  in  him  no  doubt, 

Where  neither  strumpets'  charms,  nor  drinking  bout. 

Nor  gambling  practices  can  find  it  out. 

Such  youths  of  spirit,  and  that  spirit  too. 

Ye  nurseries  of  our  boys,  we  owe  to  you  : 

Though  from  ourselves  the  mischief  more  proceeds, 

For  public  schools  'tis  public  folly  feeds, 

cient  poets  nor  historians  can  be  tasted;  or  indeed  understood,  he  does  not  mean  to  ceusDre 
the  pains  tbat  are  taken  to  instruct  a  schoolboy  in  the  religion  of  the  heathen,  but  merely 
that  neglect  of  Christian  culture  which  leaves  him  shamefully  ignorant  of  his  own. 


COWPER'S  TIROCINIUM;    OR,  A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS.  44 1 

The  slaves  of  custom  and  estalilish'd  mode, 

Wiih  packhorse  constancy  we  keep  the  road, 

Crooked  or  straight,  through  quags  or  thorny  dells, 

True  to  the  jingling  of  our  leader's  bells. 

To  follow  foolish  precedents,  and  wink 

With  both  our  eyes,  is  easier  than  to  think  : 

And  such  an  age  as  our's  balks  no  expense, 

Except  of  caution  and  of  common  sense  ; 

Else  sure  notorious  fact,  and  proof  so  plain, 

Would  turn  our  steps  into  wiser  train. 

I  blame  not  those  who,  with  what  care  they  can, 

O'erwatch  the  numerous  and  unruly  clan  ; 

Or,  if  I  blame,  'tis  only  that  they  dare 

Promise  a  work  of  which  they  must  despair. 

Have  ye,  ye  sage  intendants  of  the  whole, 

A  ubiquarian  presence  and  control, 

Elisha's  eye,  that,  when  Gehazi  stray'd, 

Went  with  him,  and  saw  all  the  game  he  play'd? 

Yes — ye  are  conscious  ;  and  on  all  the  shelves 

Your  pupils  strike  upon  have  struck  yourselves. 

Or  if,  by  nature  sober,  ye  had  then. 

Boys  as  ye  were,  the  gravity  of  tnen. 

Ye  knew  at  least,  by  constant  proofs  address'd 

To  ears  and  eyes,  the  vices  of  the  rest. 

But  ye  connive  at  what  ye  cannot  cure. 

And  evils  not  to  be  endured  endure. 

Lest  power  exerted,  but  without  success. 

Should  make  the  little  ye  retain  still  less. 

Ye  once  were  justly  famed  for  bringing  forth 

Undoubted  scholarship  and  genuine  worth  ; 

And  in  the  firmament  of  fame  still  shines 

A  glory,  bright  as  that  of  all  the  signs, 

Of  poets  raised  by  you,  and  statesmen,  and  divines. 

Peace  to  them  all !  those  brilliant  times  are  fled, 

And  no  such  lights  are  kin<lling  in  their  s'ead. 

Our  striplings  shine  indeed,  but  with  s^ich  lays 

As  set  the  midnight  riot  in  a  blaze  ; 

And  seem,  if  judged  by  their  expressive  looks, 

Deeper  in  none  than  in  their  surgeons'  books. 

Say,  muse,  (for  education  made  the  song. 
No  muse  can  hesitate,  or  linger  long,) 
What  causes  move  us,  knowing,  as  we  must, 
That  these  meimgeries  all  fail  their  trust, 
To  send  our  sons  to  scout  and  scamper  there, 
While  colts  and  puppies  cost  us  so  much  care ! 

Be  it  a  weakness,  it  deserves  some  praise, 
We  love  the  play-place  of  our  early  days  ; 
The  scene  is  touching,  and  the  heart  is  stone 
That  feels  not  at  that  sight,  and  feels  at  none. 
The  wall  on  which  we  tried  our  graving  skill, 
The  very  name  we  carved  subsisting  still ; 
The  bench  on  which  we  sat  while  deep  employ'd, 
Tliough  mangled,  hack'd,  and  hew'd,  not  yet  destroy'd; 
The  little  ones,  unbutton'd,  glowing  hot. 
Playing  our  games,  and  on  the  very  spot ; 


442  COWPER'S  TIROCINIUM  ;    OR,  A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS. 

As  happy  as  we  once,  to  kneel  and  draw 

The  chalky  ring,  and  knuckle  down  at  taw; 

To  pitch  the  ball  into  the  grounded  hat, 

Or  drive  it  devious  with  a  dextrous  pat ; 

The  pleasing  spectacle  at  once  excites 

Such  recollections  of  our  own  delights, 

That,  viewing  it,  we  seem  almost  to  obtain 

Our  innocent  sweet  simple  years  again. 

This  fond  attachment  to  the  well-known  place, 

Whence  first  we  started  into  life's  long  race, 

Maintains  its  hold  with  such  unfailing  sway, 

We  feel  it  e'en  in  age,  and  at  our  latest  day. 

Hark !  how  the  sire  of  chits,  whose  future  share 

Of  classic  food  begins  to  be  his  care. 

With  his  own  likeness  placed  on  either  knee, 

Indulges  all  a  father's  heartfelt  glee  ; 

And  tells  them,  as  he  strokes  their  silver  locks, 

That  they  must  soon  learn  Latin,  and  to  box; 

Then  turning,  he  regales  his  listening  wife 

With  all  the  adventures  of  his  early  life  ; 

His  skill  in  coachmanship,  or  driving  chaise. 

In  bilking  tavern-bills,  and  spouting  plays  ; 

What  shifts  he  used,  detected  in  a  scrape. 

How  he  was  flogg'd,  or  had  the  luck  to  escape  ; 

What  sums  he  lost  at  play,  and  how  he  sold 

Watch,  seals,  and  all — till  all  his  pranks  are  told. 

Retracing  thus  his  frolics,  ('tis  a  name 

That  palliates  deeds  of  folly  and  of  shame,) 

He  gives  the  local  bias  all  its  sway  ; 

Resolves  that  where  he  play'd,  his  sons  shall  play, 

And  destines  their  bright  genius  to  be  shown 

Just  in  the  scene  where  he  display'd  his  own. 

The  meek  and  bashful  boy  will  soon  be  taught 

To  be  as  bold  and  forward  as  he  ought ; 

The  rude  will  scuffle  though  with  ease  enough. 

Great  schools  suit  best  the  sturdy  and  the  rough. 

Ah,  happy  designation,  prudent  choice. 

The  event  is  sure  ;  expect  it,  and  rejoice  ! 

Soon  see  your  wish  fulfill'd  in  either  child. 

The  pert  made  perter,  and  the  tame  made  wild. 

The  great  indeed,  by  titles,  riches,  birth. 
Excused  the  encumbrance  of  more  sordid  worth, 
Are  best  disposed  of  where  with  most  success 
They  may  acquire  that  confident  address. 
Those  habits  of  profuse  and  lewd  expense. 
That  scorn  of  all  delights  but  those  of  sense, 
Which,  though  in  plain  plebians  we  condemn, 
With  so  much  reason,  all  expect  from  them. 
But  families  of  less  illustrious  fame. 
Whose  chief  distinction  is  their  spotless  name. 
Whose  heirs,  their  honours  none,  their  income  small, 
Must  shine  by  true  desert,  or  not  at  all, 
What  dream  they  of,  that,  with  so  little  care 
They  risk  their  hopes,  their  dearest  treasure,  there? 
They  dream  of  little  Charles  or  William  graced 
With  wig  prolix,  down  flowing  to  his  waist; 


COWPEU'S  TIROCINIUM;    OR,  A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS.  443 

They  see  the  attentive  crowds  his  talents  draw, 

They  hear  him  speak — the  oracle  of  law. 

The  father,  who  designs  his  babe  a  priest, 

Dreams  him  episcopally  such  at  least ; 

And,  while  the  playful  jockey  scours  the  room 

Briskly,  astride  upon  the  parlour  liroom, 

In  fancy  sees  him  more  superbly  ride 

In  coach  with  purple  lined,  and  mitres  on  its  side. 

Events  improbaljle  and  strange  as  these, 

Which  only  a  parental  eye  foresees, 

A  public  school  shall  bring  to  pass  with  case. 

But  how?  resides  such  virtue  in  that  air. 

As  must  create  an  appetite  for  prayer? 

And  will  it  breathe  into  him  all  the  zeal 

That  candidates  for  such  a  prize  should  feel, 

To  take  the  lead  and  he  the  foremost  still 

In  all  true  worth  and  literary  skill  ? 

"Ah,  blind  to  bright  futurity,  untaught 

The  knowledge  of  the  World,  and  dull  of  thought ! 

Church-ladders  are  not  always  mounted  best 

By  learned  clerks  and  Latinists  profess'd. 

The  exalted  prize  demands  an  upward  look, 

Not  to  be  found  by  poring  on  a  book. 

Small  skill  in  Latin,  and  still  less  in  Greek, 

Is  more  than  adequate  to  all  I  seek. 

Let  erudition  grace  him,  or  not  grace 

I  give  the  bauble  but  the  second  place  ; 

His  wealth,  fame,  honours,  all  that  I  intend, 

Subsist  and  center  in  one  point — a  friend. 

A  friend,  whate'er  he  studies  or  neglects, 

Shall  give  him  consequence,  heal  all  defects. 

His  intercourse  with  peers  and  sons  of  peers — 

There  dawns  the  splendour  of  his  future  yeers  : 

In  that  bright  quarter  his  propitious  skies 

Shall  blush  betimes,  and  there  his  glory  rise. 

Your  Lordship,  and  Your  Grace  !  what  school  can  teach 

A  rhetoric  equal  to  those  parts  of  speech  ? 

What  need  of  Homer's  verse  or  TuUy's  prose. 

Sweet  interjections  !  if  he  learn  but  those  ? 

Let  reverend  churls  his  ignorance  rebuke, 

Who  starve  upon  a  dog-ear'd  Pentateuch. 

The  parson  knows  enough  who  knows  a  duke." 

Egregious  purpose  !  worthily  begun 

In  barbarous  prostitution  of  your  son  ; 

Press'd  on  his  part  by  means  that  would  disgrace 

A  scrivener's  clerk,  or  footman  out  of  place, 

And  ending  if  at  last  its  end  be  gain'd. 

In  sacrilege,  in  God's  own  house  profan'd. 

It  may  succeed ;  and  if  his  sins  should  call 

For  more  than  common  punishment,  it  shall ; 

The  wretch  shall  rise,  and  be  the  thing  on  earth 

Least  qualified  in  honour,  learning,  worth. 

To  occupy  a  sacred,  awful  post, 

In  which  the  best  and  worthiest  tremble  most. 

The  royal  letters  are  a  thing  of  course, 

A  king,  that  would,  might  recommend  his  horse ; 


444  COWPERS  TIROCINIUM ,   OR,  A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS. 

And  (leans,  no  doubt,  and  chapters,  with  one  voice, 

As  bound  in  duly,  would  confirm  the  choice. 

Behold  your  Bishop  !  well  he  plays  his  part, 

Christian  in  name,  and  infidel  in  heart, 

Ghostly  in  office,  earthly  in  his  plan, 

A  slave  at  court,  elsewhere  a  lady's  man. 

Dumb  as  a  senator,  and  as  a  priest 

A  piece  of  mere  church  furniture  at  best ; 

To  live  estranged  from  God  his  total  scope, 

And  his  end  sure,  without  one  glimpse  of  hope. 

But,  fair  although  and  feasible  it  seem, 

Depend  not  much  upon  your  golden  dream; 

For  Providence,  that  seems  concern'd  to  exempt 

The  hallow'd  bench  from  absolute  contempt. 

In  spite  of  all  the  wrigglers  into  place. 

Still  keeps  a  seat  or  two  for  worth  and  grace ; 

And  therefore  'tis,  that,  though  the  sight  be  rare, 

We  sometimes  see  a  Lowth  or  Bagot  there. 

Besides,  school  friendships  are  not  always  found, 

Though  fair  in  promise,  permanent  and  sound  ; 

The  most  disinterested  and  virtuous  minds. 

In  early  years  connected,  time  unbinds; 

New  situations  give  a  different  cast 

Of  habit,  inclination,  temper,  taste; 

And  he,  that  seem'd  our  counterpart  at  first. 

Soon  shows  the  strong  similitude  reversed. 

Young  heads  are  giddy,  and  young  hearts  are  warm, 

And  make  mistakes  for  manhood  to  reform. 

Boys  are,  at  best,  but  pretty  buds  unblown, 

Whose  scent  and  hues  are  rather  guess'd  than  known; 

Each  dreams  that  each  is  just  what  he  appears. 

But  learns  his  error  in  maturer  years. 

When  disposition,  like  a  sail  unfurl'd, 

Shows  all  its  rents  and  patches  to  the  world. 

If,  therefore  e'en  when  honest  in  design, 

A  boyish  friendship  may  so  soon  decline, 

'Twere  wiser  sure  to  inspire  a  little  heart 

With  just  abhorrence  of  so  mean  a  part. 

Than  set  your  son  to  work  at  a  vile  trade 

For  wages  so  unlikely  to  be  paid. 

Our  public  hives  of  puerile  resort, 
That  are  of  chief  and  most  approved  report. 
To  such  base  hopes,  in  many  a  sordid  soul, 
Owe  their  repute  in  part  but  not  the  whole. 
A  principle,  whose  proud  pretensions  pass 
Unquestion'd  though  the  jewel  be  but  glass — 
That  with  a  world,  often  not  over-nice, 
Ranks  as  a  virtue,  and  is  yet  a  vice  ; 
Or  rather  a  gross  compound,  justly  tried. 
Of  envy,  hatred,  jealousy,  and  pride — 
Contributes  most  perhaps  to  enhance  their  fame 
And  emulation  is  its  specious  name. 
Boys,  once  on  fire  with  that  contentious  zeal 
Feel  all  the  rage  that  female  rivals  feel ; 
The  prize  of  beauty  in  a  woman's  eyes 
Not  brighter  than  in  theirs  the  scholar's  prize. 


COWPER'S  TIROCINIUM ;   OR,  A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS-  445 

The  spirit  of  that  competition  burns 
With  all  varieties  of  ill  by  turns  ; 
Each  vainly  magnifies  his  own  success, 
Resents  his  fellow's,  wishes  it  were  less, 
Exults  in  his  miscarriage  if  he  fail. 
Deems  his  reward  too  great  if  he  prevail, 
And  labours  to  surpass  him  day  and  night, 
Less  for  improvement  than  to  tickle  spite. 
The  spur  is  powerful,  and  I  grant  its  force  ; 
It  pricks  the  genius  forward  in  its  course, 
Allows  short  time  for  play,  and  none  for  sloth; 
And  felt  alike  by  each,  advances  both  : 
But  judge,  where  so  much  evil  intervenes, 
The  end,  though  plausible,  not  worth  the  means. 
Weigh,  for  a  moment,  classical  desert 
Against  a  heart  depraved  and  temper  hurt ; 
Hurt  too  perhaps  for  life  ;  for  early  wrong 
Done  to  the  nobler  part  affects  it  long ; 
And  you  are  stanch  indeed  in  learning's  cause 
If  you  can  crown  a  discipline,  that  draws 
Such  mischiefs  after  it  with  much  applause. 

Connexion  form'd  for  interest,  and  endear'd 
By  selfish  views,  thus  censured  and  cashier'd; 
And  emulation,  as  engendering  hate, 
Doom'd  to  a  no  less  ignominious  fate  : 
The  props  of  such  proud  seminaries  fall. 
The  Jachin  and  the  Boaz  of  them  all. 
Great  schools  rejected  then  as  those  that  swell 
Beyond  a  size  that  can  be  managed  well, 
Shall  royal  institutions  miss  the  bays. 
And  small  academies  win  all  the  praise  ? 
Force  not  my  drift  beyond  its  just  intent, 
I  praise  a  school  as  Pope  a  government ; 
So  take  my  judgment  in  his  language  dress'd, 
"  Whate'er  is  best  administer'd  is  best." 
Few  boys  are  born  with  talents  that  excel. 
But  all  are  capable  of  living  well ; 
Then  ask  not  whether  limited  or  large? 
But,  watch  they  strictly,  or  neglect  their  charge  ? 
If  anxious  only  that  their  boys  may  learn, 
While  morals  languish,  a  despised  concern, 
The  great  and  small  deserve  one  common  blame. 
Different  in  size,  but  in  effect  the  same. 
Much  zeal  in  virtue's  cause  all  teachers  boast, 
Though  motives  of  mere  lucre  sway  the  most ; 
Therefore  in  towns  and  cities  they  abound. 
For  there  the  game  they  seek  is  easiest  found. 
Though  there,  in  spite  of  all  that  care  can  do, 
Traps  to  catch  youth  are  most  abundant  too. 
If  shrewd,  and  of  a  well-constructed  brain, 
Keen  in  pursuit,  and  vigorous  to  retain. 
Your  son  come  forth  a  prodigy  of  skill  ; 
As,  wheresoever  taught,  so  form'd  he  will ; 
The  pedagogue,  with  self-complacent  air. 
Claims  more  than  half  the  praise  as  his  due  share. 


446  COWPEH'S  TIROCINIUM  i  OR,  A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS. 

But  if,  with  all  his  genius,  he  betray, 
Not  more  intelligent  than  loose  and  gay, 
Such  vicious  habits  as  disgrace  his  name, 
Threaten  his  health,  his  fortune,  and  his  fame; 
Though  want  of  due  restraint  alone  have  bred 
The  symptoms  that  you  see  with  so  much  dread  ; 
Uncnvied  there,  he  may  sustain  alone 
The  v\hole  reproach,  the  fault  was  all  his  own. 

Oh  !  'tis  a  sight  to  be  with  joy  perused, 
By  all  whom  sentiment  has  not  abused  ; 
New-fangled  sentiment,  the  boasted  grace 
Of  those  who  never  feel  in  the  right  place ; 
A  sight  surpass'd  by  none  that  we  can  show, 
Though  VesLris  on  one  leg  still  shine  below  ; 
A  father  blest  with  an  ingenious  son. 
Father,  and  friend,  and  tutor,  all  in  one. 
How  ! — turn  again  to  tales  long  since  forgot, 
.iEsop,  and  Phaedrus,  and  the  rest  ? — Why  not  ? 
He  will  not  blush,  that  has  a  father's  heart. 
To  take  in  childish  plays  a  childish  part; 
But  bends  his  sturdy  back  to  any  toy 
That  youth  takes  pleasure  in,  to  please  his  boy  : 
Then  why  resign  into  a  stranger's  hand 
A  task  as  much  within  your  own  command, 
That  God  and  nature,  and  your  interest  too, 
Seem  with  one  voice  to  delegate  to  you  ? 
Why  hire  a  lodging  in  a  house  unknown 
For  one  whose  tenderest  thoughts  all  hover  round  your  own  ? 
This  second  weaning,  needless  as  it  is. 
How  docs  it  lacerate  both  your  heart  and  his ! 
The  indented  stick,  that  loses  day  by  day 
Notch  after  notch,  till  all  are  smooth'd  away, 
Bears  witness,  long  ere  his  dismission  come. 
With  what  intense  desire  he  wants  his  home. 
But  though  the  joys  he  hopes  beneath  your  roof 
Bid  fair  enough  to  answer  in  ihe  proof. 
Harmless,  and  safe,  and  natural,  as  they  are, 
A  disappointment  wails  him  even  there  : 
Arrived,  he  feels  an  unexpected  change; 
He  blushes,  hangs  his  head,  is  shy  and  strange. 
No  longer  lakes,  as  once,  with  fearless  ease, 
His  favourite  stand  between  his  father's  knees, 
But  seeks  the  corner  of  some  distant  seat. 
And  eyes  the  door,  and  watches  a  retreat, 
And,  least  familiar,  where  he  should  be  most. 
Feels  all  his  hnppiest  privileges  lost. 
Alas,  poor  boy  I — the  natural  effect 
Of  love  by  absence  chill'd  into  respect. 
Say,  what  accomplishments,  at  school  acquired, 
Brings  he,  to  sweeten  fruits  so  undcsired? 
Thou  well  deserv'st  an  alienated  son. 
Unless  ihy  conscious  heart  acknowledge — none  ; 
None  that,  in  thy  domestic  snug  recess. 
He  had  not  made  his  own  with  more  address. 


COWPER'S  TIROCINIUM  ;    OR,  A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS.  447 

Though  some,  perhaps,  that  shock  thy  feeling  mind, 

And  better  never  learn'd,  or  left  behind. 

Add  too,  that  thus  estranged,  thou  canst  obtain 

By  no  kind  arts  his  confidence  again  ; 

That  here  begins  with  most  that  long  complaint 

Of  filial  frankness  lost,  and  love  grown  faint. 

Which,  oft  neglected,  in  life's  waning  years 

A  parent  pours  into  regardless  ears. 

Like  caterpillars,  dangling  under  trees 
By  slender  threads,  and  swinging  in  the  breeze, 
Which  filthily  bewray  and  sore  disgrace 
The  boughs  in  which  are  bred  the  unseemly  race  ; 
While  every  worm  industriously  weaves 
And  winds  his  web  about  the  rivell'd  leaves  ; 
So  numerous  are  the  follies  that  annoy 
The  mind  and  heart  of  every  sprightly  boy  ; 
Imaginations  noxious  and  perverse. 
Which  admonition  can  alone  disperse. 
The  encroaching  nuisance  asks  a  faithful  hand. 
Patient,  affectionate,  of  high  command. 
To  check  the  procreation  of  a  breed 
Sure  to  exhaust  the  plant  on  which  they  feed. 
'Tis  not  enough  that  Greek  or  Roman  page. 
At  stated  hours,  his  freakish  thoughts  engage; 
E'en  in  his  pastimes  he  requires  a  friend 
To  warn,  and  teach  him  safely  to  unbend  ; 
O'er  all  his  pleasures  gently  to  preside, 
Watch  his  emotions,  and  control  their  tide; 
And  levying  thus,  and  with  an  easy  sway, 
A  tax  of  profit  from  his  very  play, 
To  impress  a  value  not  to  be  erased, 
On  moments  squander'd  else,  and  running  all  to  waste. 
And  seems  it  nothing  in  a  father's  eye 
That  unimproved  those  many  moments  fly  ? 
And  is  he  well  content  his  son  should  find 
No  nourishment  to  feed  his  growing  mind, 
But  conjugated  verbs  and  nouns  declined? 
For  such  is  all  the  mental  food  purvey'd 
By  public  hackneys  in  the  schooling  trade  ; 
Who  feeds  a  jiupil's  intellect  with  store 
Of  syntax,  truly,  but  with  little  more  ; 
Dismiss  their  cares  when  they  dismiss  their  flock, 
Machines  themselves,  and  govern'd  by  a  clock. 
Perhaps  a  father,  blest  with  any  brains, 
Would  deem  it  no  abuse,  or  waste  of  pains, 
To  improve  this  diet,  at  no  great  expense, 
With  savoury  truth  and  wholesome  common  sense  ; 
To  lead  his  son,  for  prospects  of  delight, 
To  some  not  steep,  though  philosophic,  height, 
Thence  to  exhibit  to  his  wondering  eyes, 
Yon  circling  worlds,  their  distance,  and  their  size, 
The  moons  of  Jove,  and  Saturn's  belted  ball, 
And  the  harmonious  order  of  them  all ; 
To  show  him  in  an  insect  or  a  flower 
Such  microscopic  proof  of  skill  and  power, 


448  COWPER'S  TIROCINIUM;    OR,  A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS. 

As,  hid  from  ages  past,  God  now  displays 

To  combat  atheists  with  in  modern  days  ; 

To  spread  the  earth  before  him,  and  commend, 

With  designation  of  the  finger's  end, 

Its  various  parts  to  his  attentive  note, 

Thus  bringing  home  to  him  the  most  remote  ; 

To  teach  his  heart  to  glow  with  generous  flame. 

Caught  from  the  deeds  of  men  of  ancient  fame  ; 

And,  more  than  all,  with  commendation  due, 

To  set  some  living  worthy  in  his  view. 

Whose  fair  example  may  at  once  inspire 

A  wish  to  copy  what  he  must  admire. 

Such  knowledge,  gain'd  betimes,  and  which  appears, 

Though  solid,  not  too  weighty  for  his  years, 

Sweet  in  itself,  and  not  forbidding  sport, 

When  health  dernands  it,  of  athletic  sort. 

Would  make  him — what  some  lovely  boys  have  been. 

And  more  than  one  perhaps  that  I  have  seen — 

An  evidence  and  reprehension  both 

Of  the  mere  schoolboy's  lean  and  tardy  growth. 

Art  thou  a  man  professionally  tied. 
With  all  thy  faculties  elsewhere  applied. 
Too  busy  to  intend  a  meaner  care 
Than  how  to  enrich  thyself,  and  next  thine  heir; 
Or  art  thou  (as,  though  rich,  perhaps  thou  art) 
But  poor  in  knowledge,  having  none  to  impart: 
Behold  that  figure,  neat,  though  plainly  clad  ; 
His  sprightly  mingled  with  a  shade  of  sad ; 
Not  of  a  nimble  tongue,  though  now  and  then 
Heard  to  articulate  like  other  men  ; 
No  jester,  and  yet  lively  in  discourse. 
His  phrase  well  chosen,  clear,  and  full  of  force ; 
And  his  address,  if  not  quite  French  in  ease. 
Not  English  stiff,  but  frank  and  formed  to  please  ; 
Low  in  the  world,  because  he  scorns  its  arts  ; 
A  man  of  letters,  manners,  morals,  parts  ; 
Unpatronized,  and  therefore  little  known  ; 
Wise  for  himself,  and  his  few  friends  alone — 
In  him  thy  well-ajjpointed  proxy  see, 
Arm'd  for  a  work  too  difficult  for  thee  ; 
Prepared  by  taste,  by  learning  and  tme  worth. 
To  form  thy  son,  to  strike  his  genius  forth; 
Beneath  thy  roof,  beneath  thine  eye.  to  prove 
The  force  of  discipline  when  back'd  by  love  ; 
To  double  all  thy  pleasure  in  thy  child. 
His  mind  inform'd,  his  morals  undcfiled. 
Safe  under  such  a  wing,  the  boy  shall  show 
No  spots  contracted  among  grooms  below. 
Nor  taint  his  speech  with  meannesses,  design'd 
By  footman  Tom  for  witty  and  refined. 
There,  in  his  commerce  with  the  liveried  herd, 
Lurks  the  contagion  chiefly  to  be  fear'd  ; 
For  since  (so  fashion  dictates)  all,  who  claim 
A  higher  than  a  mere  plebeian  fame. 


COWPER'S  TIROCINIUM;  OR,  A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS.  449 

Find  it  erpedient,  come  what  mischief  may, 

To  entertain  a  thief  or  two  in  pay, 

(And  they  that  can  afford  the  expense  of  more, 

Some  half  a  dozen,  and  some  half  a  score,) 

Great  cause  occurs  to  save  him  from  a  band, 

So  sure  to  spoil  him,  and  so  near  at  hand  ; 

A  point  secured,  if  once  he  be  supplied 

With  some  such  Mentor  always  at  his  side. 

Are  such  men  rare  ?  [terhaps  they  would  abound 

Were  occupation  easier  to  be  found, 

Were  education,  else  so  sure  to  fail. 

Conducted  on  a  manageable  scale, 

And  schools,  that  have  outlived  all  just  esteem, 

Exchanged  for  the  secure  domestic  scheme. — 

But,  having  found  him,  be  thou  duke  or  earl, 

iShow  thou  hast  sense  enough  to  prize  the  pearl, 

And,  as  thou  wouldst  the  advancement  of  thine  heir 

In  all  good  faculties  beneath  his  care. 

Respect,  as  is  but  rational  and  just, 

A  man  deem'd  worthy  of  so  dear  a  trust. 

Despised  by  thee,  what  more  can  he  expect 

From  youthful  folly  than  the  same  neglect? 

A  flat  and  fatal  negative  obtains 

That  instant  upon  all  his  future  pains; 

His  lessons  tire,  his  mild  rebukes  offend, 

And  all  the  instructions  of  thy  son's  best  friend 

Are  a  stream  choked,  or  trickling  to  no  end. 

Doom  him  not  then  to  solitary  meals; 

But  recollect  that  he  has  sense,  and  feels. 

And  that,  possessor  of  a  soul  refined, 

An  upright  heart,  and  cultivated  mind. 

His  post  not  mean,  his  talents  not  unknown. 

He  deems  it  hard  to  vegetate  alone. 

And,  if  admitted  at  thy  board  he  sit, 

Account  him  no  just  mark  for  idle  wit ; 

Offend  not  him,  whom  modesty  restrains 

From  repartee,  with  jokes  that  he  disdains ; 

Much  less  transfix  his  feelings  with  an  oath; 

Nor  frown,  unless  he  vanish  with  the  cloth — 

And,  trust  me,  his  utility  may  reach 

To  more  than  he  is  hired  or  bound  to  teach  ; 

Much  trash  unultcr'd,  and  some  ills  undone. 

Through  reverence  of  the  censor  of  thy  son. 

But,  if  thy  table  be  indeed  unclean. 
Foul  with  excess,  and  with  discourse  obscene, 
And  thou  a  wretch,  whom  following  her  old  plan, 
The  world  accounts  an  honourable  man. 
Because  forsooth  thy  courage  has  been  tried, 
And  stood  the  test,  perhaps  on  the  wrong  side  ; 
Though  thou  hadst  never  grace  enough  to  prove 
That  any  thing  but  vice  could  win  thy  love  ; — 
Or  hast  thou  a  polite,  card-playing  wife, 
Chain'd  to  the  routs  that  she  frequents  for  life  : 
Who,  just  when  industry  begins  to  snore, 

Flies,  wing'd  with  joy,  to  some  coach-crowded  door ;,  ' 

29 


450  COWPPR'S  TIROCINIUM;  OR,  A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS. 

And  thrice  in  every  winter  throngs  thine  own 

With  hiilf  the  chariots  and  sedans  in  town, 

Thyself  meanwhile  e'en  shifting  as  thou  mayst ; 

Not  very  soher  though,  nor  very  chaste  ; 

Or  is  thine  house,  though  less  superb  thy  rank, 

If  not  a  scene  of  pleasure,  a  mere  blank. 

And  thou  at  best,  and  in  thy  soberest  mood, 

A  trifler  vain,  and  empty  of  all  good  ; — 

Though  mercy  for  thyself  thou  canst  have  none. 

Hear  Nature  plead,  show  mercy  to  thy  son. 

Saved  from  his  home,  where  every  day  brings  foith 

Some  mischief  fatal  to  his  future  worth, 

Find  him  a  better  in  a  distant  spot. 

Within  some  pious  pastor's  humble  cot,  • 

Where  vile  example  (yours  I  chiefly  mean, 

The  most  seducing,  and  the  oftenest  seen) 

May  never  more  be  stamp'd  upon  his  breast, 

Not  yet  perhaps  incurably  impress'd. 

Where  early  rest  makes  early  rising  sure, 

Disease  or  comes  not,  or  finds  easy  cure. 

Prevented  much  by  diet  neat  and  plain  ; 

Or,  if  it  enter,  soon  starved  out  again  : 

Where  all  the  attention  of  his  faithful  host. 

Discreetly  limited  to  two  at  most. 

May  raise  such  fruits  as  shall  reward  his  care, 

And  not  at  last  evaporate  in  air: 

Where,  stillness  aiding  study,  and  his  mind 

Serene,  and  to  his  duties  much  inclined, 

Not  occupied  in  day  dream,  as  at  home. 

Of  pleasures  past,  or  follies  yet  to  come. 

His  virtuous  toil  may  termmate  at  last 

In  settled  habit  and  decided  taste. — 

But  whom  do  I  advise  ?  the  fashion-led. 

The  incorrigibly  wrong,  the  deaf,  the  dead  ! 

Whom  care  and  cool  deliberation  suit 

Not  better  much  than  spectacles  a  brute  ; 

Who,  if  their  sons  some  slight  tuition  share. 

Deem  it  of  no  great  moment  whose,  or  where ; 

Too  proud  to  adopt  the  thoughts  of  one  unknown. 

And  much  too  gay  to  have  any  of  their  own. 

But  courage,  man  !  methought  the  Muse  replieo, 

Mankind  are  various,  and  the  world  is  wide: 

The  ostrich,  silliest  of  the  feather'd  kind. 

And  form'd  of  God  without  a  parent's  mind. 

Commits  her  eggs,  incautious,  to  the  dust, 

Forgetful  that  the  foot  may  crush  the  trust ; 

And,  while  on  public  nurseries  they  rely. 

Not  knowing,  and  too  oft  not  caring,  why, 

Irrational  in  what  they  thus  prefer, 

No  few,  that  would  seem  wise,  resemble  her. 

But  all  are  not  alike.     Thy  warning  voice 

May  here  and  there  prevent  erroneous  choice; 

And  some,  perhaps,  who,  busy  as  they  are, 

Yet  make  their  progeny  their  dearest  care, 


COWPER'S  TIROCINIUM  ;   OR,  A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS.  45 1 

(Whose  hearts  will  ache,  once  told  what  ills  may  reach 
Tlicir  offspring,  left  upon  so  wild  a  beach,) 
Will  need  no  stress  of  argument  to  enforce 
The  expedience  of  a  less  adventurous  course  : 
The  rest  will  slight  thy  counsel,  or  condemn; 
But  they  have  human  feeliiigi — turn  to  lliem. 
To  you,  then,  tenants  of  life's  middle  state, 
Securely  placed  between  the  small  and  great, 
Whose  character,  yet  undebauch'd,  retains 
Two-thirds  of  all  the  virtue  that  remains. 
Who,  wise  yourselves,  desire  your  sons  should  learn 
Your  wisdom  and  your  ways — to  you  I  turn. 
Look  round  you  on  a  world  perversely  blind; 
See  what  contempt  is  fallen  on  human  kind  ; 
See  wealth  abused,  and  dignities  misplaced. 
Great  titles,  offices,  and  trusts  disgraced. 
Long  lines  of  ancestry,  renown'd  of  old. 
Their  noble  qualities  all  quench'd  and  cold; 
See  Bedlam's  closeted  and  handcuff'd  charge 
Surpass'd  in  frenzy  by  the  mad  at  large  ; 
See  great  commanders  making  war  a  trade. 
Great  lawyers,  lawyers  without  study  made  ; 
Churchmen,  in  whose  esteem  their  best  employ 
Is  odious,  and  their  wages  all  their  joy. 
Who,  far  enough  from  furnishing  their  shelves 
With  gospel  lore,  turn  infidels  themselves  ; 
See  womanhood  despised,  and  manhood  shamed 
With  infamy  too  nauseous  to  be  named. 
Fops  at  all  corners,  l.idylike  in  mien, 
Civeted  fellows,  smell  eie  they  are  seen. 
Else  coarse  and  rude  in  manners,  and  their  tongue 
On  fire  with  curses,  and  with  nonsense  hung, 
Now  flushed  with  drunkenness,  now  with  whoredom  pale, 
Their  breath  a  sample  of  last  night's  regale 
See  volunteers  in  all  the  vilest  arts. 
Men  well  endow'd  of  honourable  parts, 
Design'd  by  Nature  wise,  but  self-made  fools  ; 
All  these,  and  more  like  these,  were  bred  at  schools. 
And  if  it  chance,  as  sometimes  chance  it  will, 
That  though  school-bred  the  boy  be  virtuous  still; 
Such  rare  exceptions,  shining  in  the  dark, 
Prove,  rather  than  itupeach,  the  just  remark  : 
As  here  and  there  a  twinkling  star  descried 
Serves  but  to  show  how  black  is  all  beside. 
Now  look  on  him,  whose  very  voice  in  tone 
Just  echoes  ihine,  whose  features  are  thine  own, 
And  stroke  his  polished  cheek  of  purest  red, 
And  lay  thine  hand  upon  his  flaxen  head. 
And  say,  Mj  boy,  the  unwelcome  hour  is  come, 
When  thou,  transplanted   from  thy  geiual  home, 
Must  find  a  colder  soil  and  bleaker  air. 
And  trust  for  safety  to  a  stranger's  care  ; 
What  character,  what  turn  thou  wilt  assume 
From  constant  converse  with  I  know  not  whom ; 


452  COWTER'S  TIROCINIUM;  OR,  A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS. 

Who  there  will  court  tiiy  friendship,  with  what  views. 

And,  artless  as  thou  art,  whom   thou  wilt  choose; 

Though  much  depends  on  what  thy  choice  shall  be. 

Is  all  chance-medley,  and  unknown  to  me. 

Canst  thou,  the  tear  just  trembling  on  thy  lids. 

And  while  the  dreadful  risk  foreseen  forbids ; 

Free  too,  and  under  no  constraining  force, 

Unless  the  sway  of  custom  warp  thy  course  ; 

Lay  such  a  stake  upon  the  losing  side, 

Merely  to  gratify  so  blind  a  guide  ? 

Thou  canst  not !  Nature,  pulling  at  thine  heart. 

Condemns  the  unfatherly,  the  imprudent  part. 

Thou  wouldst  not,  deaf  to  Nature's  tenderest  plea, 

Turn  him  adrift  upon  a  rolling  sea. 

Nor  say,  Go  thither,  conscious  that  there  lay 

A  brood  of  asps,  or  quicksands  in  his  way  ; 

Then,  only  govem'd  by  the  self-same  rule 

Of  natural  pity,  send  him  not  to  school. 

No — guard  him  better.     Is  he  not  thine  own, 

Thyself    in  miniature,  thy  flesh,  thy  bone  ? 

And  hopest  thou  not,  ('tis  every  father's  hope,) 

That,  since  thy  strength  must  with  thy  years  elope, 

And  thou  wilt  need  some  comfort  to  assuage 

Health's  last  farewell,  a  staff  of  thine  old  age. 

That  then,  in  recompense  of  all  thy  cares, 

Thy  child  shall  show  respect  to  thy  gray  hairs, 

Befriend  thee,  of  all  other  friends  bereft, 

And  give  thy  life  its  only  cordial  left  ? 

Aware  then  how  much  danger  intervenes, 

To  compass  that  good  end,  forecast  the  means. 

His  heart,  now  passive,  yields  to  thy  command  ; 

Secure  it  thine,  its  key  is  in  thine  hand  ; 

If  thou  desert  thy  charge,  and  throw  it  wide, 

Nor  heed  what  guests  there  enter  and  abide, 

Complain  not  if  attachments  lewd  and  base 

Supplant  thee  in  it,  and  usurp  thy  place. 

But  if  thou  guard  its  sacred  chambers  sure 

From  vicious  inmates  and  delights  impure, 

Either  his  gratitude  shall  hold  him  fast, 

And  keep  hirn  warm  and  filial  to  the  last ; 

Or,  if  he  prove  unkind,  (as  who  can  say 

But,  being  man,  and  therefore  frail,  he  may?) 

One  comfort  yet  shall  cheer  thine  aged  heart, 

Howe'er  he  slight  thee,  thou  hast  done  thy  part. 

Oh,  barbarous  !  wouldst  thou  with  a  Gothic  hand 
Pull  down  the  schools — what! — all  the  schools  i'th'  land; 
Or  throw  them  up  to  livery  nags  and  grooms, 
Or  turn  them  into  shops  and  auction-rooms? 
A  captious  question,  sir,  (and  yours  is  one,) 
Deserves  an  answer  similar,  or  none. 
Wouldst  thou,  possessor  of  a  flock,  employ 
(Apprised  that  he  is  such)  a  careless  boy, 
And  feed  him  well,  and  give  him  handsome  pay. 
Merely  to  sleep,  and  let  them  run  astray  ? 
Survey  our  schools  and  colleges,  and  see 
A  sight  not  much  unlike  my  simile. 


CX>WPER'S  TIROCINroM;  OR,  A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS.  453 

From  education,  as  the  leading  cause, 
The  public  character  its  colour  draws  ; 
Thence  the  prevailing  manners  take  their  cast, 
Extravagant  or  sober,  loose  or  chaste. 
And,  though  I  would  not  advertise  them  yet, 
Nor  write  on  each —  This  Building  to  be  Let, 
Unless  the  world  were  all  prepared  to  embrace 
A  plan  well  worthy  to  supply  their  place  ; 
Yet,  backward  as  they  are,  and  long  have  been, 
To  cultivate  and  keep  the  morals  clean, 
(Forgive  the  crime,)  I  wish  them,  I  confess. 
Or  better  managed,  or  encouraged  less. 


DISCIPLINE, 
From  the  Task,     Book  IL     Tke  Time-Piece. 

In  colleges  and  hulls,  in  ancient  days, 
When  learning,  virtue,  piety,  and  truth 
Were  precious  and  inculcated  with  care, 
There  dwelt  a  siige  calPd  Discipline.     His  head. 
Not  yet  by  time  completely  siher'd  o'er. 
Bespoke  liim  past  tlie  hounds  of  freakish  youth. 
But  strong  fur  service  still,  and  unimpair'd. 
His  eye  was  meek  and  gentle,  and  a  smile 
Play'd  on  his  lips;  and  in  his  speech  was  beard 
Paternal  sweetness,  dignity,  and  love. 
The  occupation  dearest  to  his  heart 
Was  to  encourage  goodness.     He  would  stroke 
The  head  of  modest  and  ingenuous  worth, 
That  blush'd  at  its  own  praise;  and  press  the  youth 
Close  to  his  side  that  pleased  him.     Learning  grew 
Beneath  his  care  a  thriving  vigorous  plant ; 
The  mind  was  well  iiiform'd,  the  passions  held 
Subordinate,'and  diligence  was  choice. 
If  e'er  it  chanced,  as  sometimes  chance  it  must. 
That  one  among  so  many  overlea))M 
The  limits  of  control,  his  gentle  eye 
Grew  stern,  and  darted  a  severe  rebuke 
His  frown  was  full  of  terror,  and  his  voice 
Shook  the  delinquent  with  such  fits  of  awe 
As  left  him  not,  till  penitence  had  won 
Lost  favor  back  again,  and  closed  the  breach. 
But  Discipline,  a  faithful  servant  long, 
Declined  at  length  into  the  vale  of  years  ; 
A  palsy  struck  his  arm  ;  his  sparkling  eye 
Was  quench'd  in  rheums  of  age ;  his  voice,  unstrung. 
Grew  tremulous,  and  moved  derision  more 
Than  reverence  in  perverse  rebellious  youth. 
So  colleges  and  halls  neglected  much 
Their  good  old  friend  ;  and  Discipline  at  length. 
O'er  look'd  and  unemploy'd,  fell  sick,  and  died. 
Then  Study  languish'd,  Emulation  slept. 
And  Virtue  fled.     The  schools  became  a  scene 
Of  solemn  farce,  where  Ignorance  in  stilts. 
His  cap  well  lined  with  logic  not  his  own. 
With  parrot  tongue  perform'd  the  scholar's  part, 
Proceeding  soon  a  graduated  dunce. 
Then  compromise  had  place,  and  scrutiny 
Became  stone  blind  ;  precedence  went  in  truck, 
And  he  was  competent  whose  purse  was  so 


454  WILLIAM  COWPER. 

A  dissolution  of  all  bonds  ensued  ; 
The  curbs  invented  for  the  mulish  mouth 
Of  headstrong  youth  were  broken  ;  bars  and  bolts 
Grew  rusty  by  disuse;  and  massy  gates 
Forgot  their  office,  opening  with  a  touch  ; 
Till  gowns  at  length  are  found  mere  masquerade. 
The  tassel'd  cap  and  the  spruce  band  a  jest, 
A  mockery  of  the  world  !     What  need  of  these 
For  gamesters,  jockeys,  brotlielers  impure, 
Spendthrills,  and  booted  sportsmens  oftener  seen 
With  beUed  waist  and  pointers  at  Iheir  heels 
Than  m  the  bounds  of  duty  ?     What  was  learn'4 
If  anglit  was  eurn'd  in  childhood,  is  forgot; 
And  such  pjpense  as  pinches  pnrents  blue, 
And  murtihes  the  liberal  hand  of  love, 
Is  sr;uui.der'd  in  pursuit  of  idle  sports 
AnJ  vici<  us  pleasures  ;  buys  the  boy  a  name 
Tlial  siL-  n  stigma  on  his  father's  house, 
Aiul  cieii>es  through  life  inseixirably  close 
To  l)inn  I'lat  wears  it.     What  can  after-game* 
Of  r'lKT  )oys,  and  commerce  with  the  world. 
The  jew  I  vain  world,  that  must  receive  him  soon, 
Add  t(  <uch  erudition,  thus  acquired, 
Wi.erf  science  and  where  virtue  are  profess'd  1 
Tliey  nmy  confirm  his  habits,  rivet  fast 
His  (cily,  but  to  spoil  him  is  a  task 
I'.iut  bids  defiance  to  the  united  powers 
Ol  li.shion,  dissipation,  taverns,  stews. 
N(iV.  blame  we  most  the  nurslings  or  the  nurse 
TJ"  children,  crook'd,  and  twisted,  and  deform'd, 
'I'liTough  want  of  core  ;  or  her,  whose  winking  eye 
And  slumbering  oscitancy  mars  the  brood  7 
'1  (le  nurse,  no  doubt.     Regardless  of  her  charge, 
l-he  needs  herself  correction  ;  needs  to  learn 
I'hat  it  is  dangerous  sporting  with  the  world, 
vVith  things  so  sacred  as  a  notion's  trust, 
The  nurture  of  her  youth,  her  dearest  pledge. 
All  are  not  such.     I  had  a  brother  once — * 
Peace  to  the  memory  of  a  man  of  worth, 
A  man  of  letters,  and  of  manners  too  ! 
Of  manners  sweet  as  Virtue  always  wears, 
When  gny  good-nature  dresses  her  in  smiles. 
He  graced  a  college,!  in  which  order  yet 
Was  sacred  ;  and  was  honor'd,  loved,  and  wept 
By  more  than  one,  themselves  consj)icuous  there. 
Some  minds  are  temper'd  happily,  and  mix'd 
With  such  ingredients  of  good  sense  and  taste 
Of  what  is  excellent  in  man,  they  thirst 
With  such  a  zeal  to  be  what  they  approve, 
That  no  restraints  can  circumscribe  them  more 
Than  they  themselves  by  choice,  for  wisdom's  sake. 
Nor  can  example  hurt  them  ;  what  they  see 
Of  vice  in  others,  but  enhojicing  more 
The  charms  of  virtue  in  their  just  esteem 
If  such  escape  contagion,  and  emerge 
Pure  from  so  foul  a  jiool  to  shine  abroad. 
And  give  the  world  tJieir  talents  and  them.«elves. 
Small  thanks  to  those,  whose  negligence  or  sloth 
Exposed  their  inexperience  to  the  snare, 
And  left  them  to  an  undirected  choice. 

•Rev.  William  Cowper.  tBcact  College,  Cuubridge* 


THE  SCHOOL  AND  TEACHER  IN  LITERATURE. 


GEORGE  CRABBE,  1754 1832. 

George  Crabbe  was  born  at  01dborough,in  Suffolk  county,  Decem- 
ber 24,  1754, — and,  with  such  early  training  as  the  Dame  and  the 
Latin  school  of  the  Borough  afforded,  was  apprenticed  to  a  surgeon 
and  apothecary,  at  fourteen,  and  in  due  time  essayed  practice — but 
failing  to  obtain  it,  in  1775  went  to  London  to  try  his  fortune  as  a 
writer — was,  in  the  hour  of  his  utmost  need,  domesticated  in  the 
family  of  Edmund  Burke,  and  encouraged  by  him  in  the  publication 
of  the  Library^ — in  1781,  showing  a  strong  partiality  for  the  minis- 
try, he  was  appointed  chaplain  to  the  Duke  of  Rutland,  at  Beloni  Castle, 
and  afterward  a  curate  of  his  native  village, — in  1783,  appeared  his 
poem,  the  Village^ — in  1807,  his  Parish  Register, — in  1810,  the 
Boroughs, — in  1813,  Tales  in  Verse,  and  in  181V  and  '18,  the  Tales 
of  the  Hall.  He  died  at  Trowbridge,  in  February,  1832.  His  pic- 
tures of  humble  life — of  the  trials  and  sufferings  of  the  poor — his  ten- 
derness and  practical  wisdom,  will  secure  liim  a  permanent  place  in 
English  literature.  He  has  not  forgotten  his  earlj'  dame  school  and 
schoolmistress,  nor  the  schools  of  the  borough  where  he  was  born, 
whose  characters  and  local  history  he  thus  reproduces. 

SCHOOLS    OF    THE    BOROUGH. 

SohooJs  of  every  Kind  to  l»e  found  in  the  Borough — The  SohooJ  for  Infants — The  School  Prepara- 
tory :  the  sagacity  of  the  Mistress  in  foreseeing  Character — Day-Schiiols  of  tlie  lower  Kind — A 
Muster  with  Talents  adapted  to  such  Pupils  :  one  of  superior  Qualifications — Boarding-Schools: 
that  for  young  ludies  :  onegoi«g  fifst  to  t^e  Governess,  one  finally  returning  Home — School  for 
Youth:  Moster  and  Teacher ;  various  Dispositions  and  Capacities — The  Miser  Boy — The  Boy- 
Bully — Sons  of  Fanners  :  how  amused — W'liut  Study  will  efrect,exaniined — A  College  Life:  one 
sent  from  his  College  to  a  Benefice;  owe  retained  tJ*ere  in  J)i»nity — The  Advantages  in  either 
Case  not  considerable — Where,  then,  the  Good  of  a  literary  L^p — Answered — Conclusion. 

To  every  class  we  have  a  School  a,ssign'd,  (1.) 
Rules  for  all  ranks  and  food  for  every  mind  ; 
Yet  one  there  is,  that  small  regard  to  rule 
Or  study  pays,  and  still  is  deetn'd  a  School ; 
That  where  a  deaf,  poor,  patient  widow  sits, 
And  awes  some  thirty  infants  as  she  knits ; 
Infants  of  humble,  busy  wives,  who  pay  (2) 
Some  trifling  price  for  freedom  through  the  day. 
At  this  good  matron's  hut  the  children  meet, 
Who  thus  becomes  the  mother  of  the  street. 
Her  room  is  small,  they  can  not  widely  stray, — 
Her  threshold  high,  they  can  not  run  away  : 
Though  deaf,  she  sees  the  rebel-heroes  shout, ^ 


456  CRABBE'S  SCHOOLS  OF  THE  BOROUGH. 

Though  lame,  her  white  rod  nimlily  walks  about; 
With  band  of  yarn  she  keeps  offenders  in, 
And  to  her  gown  the  sturdiest  rogue  can  pin ; 
Aided  by  these,  and  spells,  and  tell-tale  birds, 
Her  power  they  dread  and  reverence  her  words. 

To  Learning's  second  seats  we  now  proceed. 
Where  humming  students  gilded  primers  read  ; 
Or  books  with  letters  large  and  pictures  gay. 
To  make  their  reading  hut  a  kind  of  play — 
"  Reading  made  Easy,"  so  the  titles  tell : 
But  they  who  read  must  first  begin  to  spell :  (3) 
There  may  be  profit  in  these  arts,  but  still, 
Learning  is  labor,  call  it  what  you.will; 
Upon  the  youthful  mind  a  heavy  load, 
Nor  must  we  hope  to  find  the  royal  road. 
Some  will  their  easy  steps  to  science  show, 
And  some  to  heav'n  itself  their  by-way  know  ; 
Ah  !  trust  them  not, — who  fame  or  bliss  would  share, 
Must  learn  by  labor,  and  must  live  by  care. 

Another  matron,  of  .superior  kind, 
For  higher  schools  prepares  the  rising  mind  ; 
Preparatory  she  her  leaniiiig  calls,  (4) 
The  step  first  made  to  colleges  and  halls. 

She  early  sees  to  what  the  mind  will  grow. 
Nor  abler  judge  of  infant-powers  I  know  ; 
She  sees  what  soon  the  lively  will  impede. 
And  how  the  steadier  will  in  turn  succeed; 
Observes  the  dawn  of  wisdom,  fancy,  taste. 
And  knows  what  parts  will  wear,  and  wiiat  will  waste; 
She  marks  the  mind  too  lively,  and  at  once 
Sees  the  gay  coxcomb  and  the  rattling  dunce. 

Long  has  she  lived,  and  much  she  loves  to  trace 
Her  former  pupils,  now  a  lordly  race  ; 
Whom  when  she  sees  rich  robes  and  furs  bedeck. 
She  marks  the  pride  which  once  she  strove  to  check. 
A  Burgess  comes,  and  she  remembers  well 
How  hard  her  task  to  make  his  worship  spell : 
Cold,  selfish,  dull,  inanimate,  unkind, 
'T  was  but  by  anger  he  display'd  a  mind : 
Now  civil,  smiling,  complaisant,  and  gay, 
The  world  has  worn  th'  unsocial  crust  away; 
That  suHtti  spirit  now  a  sofljuess  wears. 
And,  save  by  fits,  e'en  dullness  disappears : 
But  still  the  matron  can  the  man  behold. 
Dull,  selfish,  hard,  inanimate,  and  cold. 
A  Merchant  passes, — "  Probity  and  truth. 
Prudence  and  patience,  mark'd  thee  from  thy  youth." 
Thus  she  observes,  but  oft  retains  her  fears 
For  him,  who  now  with  name  unstain'd  appears; 
Nor  hope  lelinquishes,  for  one  who  yet 
Is  lost  in  error  and  involved  in  debt ; 
For  latent  evil  in  that  heart  she  found,  (5) 
More  open  here,  but  here  the  core  was  sound. 

Various  our  Day-Schools  ;  here  behold  we  one 
Empty  and  still : — the  morning  duties  done. 


CRABBE'S  SCHOOLS  OF  THE  BOROUGH.  467 

Soil'd,  tatter'.!,  worn,  and  thrown  in  various  heaps, 
Appear  their  books,  and  there  confusion  sleeps 
The  workmen  all  are  from  the  Babel  fled, 
And  lost  their  tools,  till  the  return  they  dread  ; 
Meantime  the  master,  with  his  wig  awry, 
Prepares  his  books  for  business  by-and-by  : 
Now  all  th'  insignia  of  the  monarch  laid 
Beside  him  rest,  and  none  stand  by  afraid  ; 
He,  while  his  troop  light-hearted  leap  and  play. 
Is  all  intent  on  duties  of  the  day  ; 
No  more  the  tyrant  stern  or  judge  severe. 
He  feels  the  father's  and  the  husband's  fear. 

Ah!  little  think  the  timid  trembling  crowd. 
That  one  so  wise,  so  powerful,  and  so  proud, 
Should  feel  himself,  and  dread  the  humble  ills 
Of  rent-day  charges  and  of  coal-man's  bills  ; 
That  while  they  mercy  from  their  judge  implore. 
He  fears  himself— a  knocking  at  the  door ; 
And  feels  the  burthen  as  his  neighbor  states 
His  humble  portion  to  the  parish-rates. 

They  sit  th'  allotted  hours,  then  eager  run, 
Rushing  to  pleasure  when  the  duty's  done  ; 
His  hour  of  leisure  is  of  different  kind. 
Then  cares  domestic  rush  upon  his  mind, 
And  half  the  ease  and  comfort  he  enjoys. 
Is  when  surrounded  by  slates,  books,  ami  boys. 

Poor  Reicbe>i  Dixon  has  the  noisiest  school  (6) 
Of  ragged  lads,  who  ever  bow'd  to  rule  ; 
Low  in'his  price-the  men  who  heave  our  coals. 
And  clean  our  causeways,  send  him  boys  in  shoals. 
To  see  poor  Reuben,  with  his  fry  beside,— 
Their  half-check'd  rudeness  and  his  half-scorn'd  pnde,- 
Their  room,  the  sty  in  which  th'  assemljly  meet. 
In  the  close  lane  behind  the  Northgate-street ; 
T' observe  his  vain  attempts  to  keep  the  peace. 
Till  tolls  the  bell,  and  strife  and  troubles  cease,- 
Calls  for  our  praise  ;  his  labor  praise  deserves. 
But  not  our  pity  ;  Reuben  has  no  nerves  : 
'iMid  noise,  and  dirt,  and  stench,  and  play,  and  prate. 
He  calmly  cuts  the  pen  or  views  the  slate. 

But  Leonard ;-yes,  for  Leonard's  fate  I  grieve.  (/) 
Who  loathes  the  station  which  he  dares  not  leave ; 
He  can  not  dig,  he  will  not  beg  his  bread, 
All  his  dependence  rests  upon  his  head ; 
And  deeply  skill'd  in  sciences  and  arts, 
On  vulgar  lads  he  wastes  superior  parts. 

Alas  !  what  grief  that  feeling  mind  sustains, 
In  guiding  hands  and  stirring  torpid  brains  ; 
He  whose  proud  mind  from  pole  to  pole  will  move, 
And  view  the  wonders  of  the  worlds  above  ; 
Who  thinks  and  reasons  strongly  :— hard  his  fate, 
Confined  forever  to  the  pen  and  slate. 
True  he  submits,  and  when  the  long  dull  day 
Has  slowly  pass'd  in  weary  tasks  away, 
To  other  worlds  with  cheerful  view  he  looks. 
And  parts  the  night  between  repose  and  books. 


458  CRABBE  S  SCHOOLS  OF  THE  BOROUGH. 

Amid  liis  laliors,  lie  has  sometimes  tried 
To  turn  a  lillle  from  his  cares  aside  : 
Pope,  Milton,  Dryden,  with  delight  has  seized 
His  soul  engaged  and  of  his  troul)le  eased  : 
When,  with  a  heavy  eye  and  ill-done  sum, 
No  part  conceived,  a  stupid  boy  will  come  ; 
Then  Leonard  first  subdues  the  rising  frown, 
And  bids  the  blockhead  lay  his  blunders  down  ; 
O'er  which  disgusted  he  will  turn  his  eye, 
To  his  sad  duly  his  sound  mind  apply. 
And,  vex'd  in  spirit,  throw  his  pleasures  by. 

Turn  we  to  Schools  which  more  than  these  afford — 
The  sound  instruction  and  the  wholesome  board; 
And  first  our  School  for  Ladies  :  (8)  pity  calls 
For  one  soft  sigh,  when  we  behold  these  walls, 
Placed  near  the  town,  and  where,  from  window  high, 
The  fair,  confined,  may  our  free  crowds  espy, 
With  many  a  stranger  gazing  up  and  down, 
And  all  the  envied  tumult  of  the  town  ; 
May,  in  the  smiling  summer-eve,  when  they 
Are  sent  to  sleep  the  pleasant  hours  away. 
Behold  the  poor  (when  they  conceive  the  bless'd) 
Employ "d  for  hours,  and  grieved  they  can  not  rest. 

Here  the  fond  girl,  whose  days  are  sad  and  few 
Since  dear  mamma  pronounced  ihe  last  adieu, 
Looks  to  the  road,  and  fondly  thinks  she  hears 
The  carriage-wheels,  and  struggles  with  her  tears. 
All  yet  is  new,  the  misses  great  and  small, 
Madam  herself,  and  teachers,  odious  all ; 
From  laughter,  pity,  nay  command,  she  turns, 
But  melts  in  softness,  or  with  anger  burns; 
Nauseates  her  food,  and  wonders  who  can  sleep 
On  such  mean  beds,  where  she  can  only  weep; 
She  scorns  condolence — but  to  all  she  hates 
Slowly  at  length  her  mind  accommodates  ; 
Then  looks  on  bondage  with  the  same  concern 
As  others  felt,  and  finds  that  she  must  learn 
As  others  learn'd — the  common  lot  to  share, 
To  search  for  comfort  and  submit  to  care. 

There  are,  't  is  said,  who  on  these  seats  attend. 
And  to  these  ductile  minds  destruction  vend  ;  (9) 
Wretches — (to  virtue,  peace,  and  nature,  foes) — 
To  these  soft  minds,  their  wicked  trash  expose; 
Seize  on  the  soul,  ere  passions  take  the  sway, 
And  let  the  heart,  ere  yet  it  feels,  astray. 
Smugglers  obscene  !  and  can  there  be  who  take 
Infernal  pains,  the  sleeping  vice  to  wake? 
Can  there  be  those,  by  whom  the  thoughts  defiled 
Enters  the  spotless  bosom  of  a  child  ? 
By  whom  the  ill  is  to  the  heart  convey'd, 
Who  lend  the  foe,  not  yet  in  arms,  their  aid, 
And  sap  the  city-walls  before  the  siege  be  laid  T 

Oh  !  rather  skulking  in  the  by-ways  steal, 
And  rob  the  poorest  traveler  of  his  meal ; 
Burst  through  the  humblest  trader's  boiled  door; 


CRABBE'S  SCHOOLS  OP  THE  BOROUGH.  459 

Bear  from  the  widow's  hut  her  winter-store  ; 
With  stolen  steed,  on  highways  take  your  stand, 
Your  lips  with  curses  arin'd,  with  death  your  hand  ;— 
Take  all  hut  life — the  virtuous  more  would  say,^ 
Take  life  itself,  dear  as  it  is,  away. 
Rather  than  guilty  thus  the  guileless  soul  betray. 

Years  pass  away — let  us  suppose  them  past, 
Th'  accomplish'd  nyin|)h  for  freedom  looks  at  last; 
All  hardships  over,  which  a  school  contains, 
Th'  spirit's  hondage  and  the  body's  pains  ; 
Where  teaciiers  make  the  heartless,  trembling  set 
Of  pupils  suffer  for  their  own  regret ; 
Where  winter's  cold,  atlack'd  by  one  poor  fire, 
Chills  the  fair  child,  commanded  to  retire  ; 
She  felt  it  keenly  in  the  morning  air. 
Keenly  she  felt  it  at  the  evening  prayer. 
More  pleasant  summer ;  but  then  walks  were  made, 
Not  a  sweet  ramble,  but  a  slow  parade  ; 
They  moved  by  pairs  beside  the  hawthorn-hedge, 
Only  to  set  their  feelings  on  an  edge  ; 
And  now  at  eve,  when  all  their  spirits  rise, 
Are  sent  to  rest,  and  all  their  pleasure  dies  ; 
Where  yet  they  all  the  town  alert  can  see, 
And  distant  plough-boys  pacing  o'er  the  lea 

These  and  the  tasks  successive  masters  brought — 
The  French  they  con'd,  the  curious  works  they  \\rought : 
The  hours  they  made  their  taper  fingers  strike 
Note  after  note,  all  due  to  them  alike  ; 
Their  drawings,  dancings  on  appointed  days. 
Playing  with  globes,  and  getting  parts  of  plays  ; 
The  tender  friendships  made  'twixt  heart  and  heart, 
When  the  dear  friends  had  nothing  to  impart : — 

All !  all  !  are  over; — now  th'  accomplish'd  maid 
Longs  for  the  world,  of  nothing  there  afraid: 
Dreams  of  delight  invade  her  gentle  breast, 
And  fancied  lovers  rob  the  heart  of  rest ; 
At  the  paternal  door  a  carriage  stands. 
Love  knits  their  hearts  and  Hymen  joins  their  hands. 
Ah! — world  unknown  !  how  charming  is  thy  view. 
Thy  pleasures  many,  and  each  pleasure  new : 
Ah! — world  experienced!  what  of  thee  is  told? 
How  few  thy  pleasures,  and  those  few  how  old! 

Within  a  silent  street,  and  far  apart 
From  noise  of  business,  from  a  quay  or  mart, 
Stands  an  old  spacious  building,  and  the  din 
You  hear  without,  explains  the  work  within ; 
Unlike  the  whispering  of  the  nymphs,  this  noise 
Loudly  proclaims  a  "  Boarding-School  for  Boys;  (10) 
The  master  heeds  it  not,  for  thirty  years 
Have  render'd  all  to  his  familiar  ears  ; 
He  sits  in  comfort,  'mid  the  various  sound 
Of  mingled  tones  for  ever  flowing  round  ; 
Day  after  day  he  to  bis  task  attends, — 
Unvaried  toil,  and  care  that  never  ends, — 
Boys  in  their  works  proceed ;  while  his  employ 


4'60  CRABBE'S  SCHOOLS  OF  THE  BOUOUGH. 

Admits  no  change,  or  changes  but  the  boy ; 

Yet  time  has  made  it  easy  ; — he  beside 

Has  power  supreme,  and  power  is  sweet  to  pride  ; 

But  grant  liim  pleasure  ; — what  can  teachers  feel, 

Dependent  helpers  always  at  the  wheel? 

Their  power  despised,  their  compensation  small. 

Their  labor  dull,  their  life  laborious  all ! 

Set  after  set  the  lower  lads  to  make 

Fit  for  the  class  which  their  superiors  take  ; 

The  road  of  learning  for  a  time  to  track 

In  roughest  state,  and  then  again  go  back  :  ■ 

Just  the  same  way  on  other  troops  to  wait, — 

Attendants  fix'd  at  Learning's  lower  gate. 

The  day-tasks  now  are  over, — to  their  ground 
Rush  the  gay  crowd  with  joy-compelling  sound  ; 
Glad  to  illude  the  burthens  of  the  day. 
The  eager  parties  hurry  to  their  play  : 
Then  in  these  hours  of  liberty  we  find 
The  native  bias  of  an  ojiening  mind  ; 
They  yet  posses  not  skill  the  mask  to  place. 
And  hide  the  passions  glowing  in  the  face  ; 
Yet  some  are  found — the  close,  the  sly,  the  mean, 
Who  know  already  all  must  not  be  seen. 
Lo  !  one  who  walks  apart,  although  so  young, 
He  lays  restraint  upon  his  eye  and  tongue ; 
Nor  will  he  into  scrapes  or  danger  get, 
And  half  the  school  are  in  the  stripling's  debt: 
Suspicious,  timid,  he  is  much  afraid 
Of  trick  and  plot: — he  dreads  to  be  betray'd: 
He  shuns  all  friendship,  for  he  finds  they  lend, 
When  lads  begin  to  call  each  other  friend : 
Yet  self  with  self  has  war ;  the  tempting  sight 
Of  fruit  on  sale  provokes  hisappetile  ; — 
See  !  how  he  walks  the  sweet  seduction  by  ; 
That  he  is  tempted,  costs  him  first  a  sigh, — 
'T  is  dangerous  to  indulge,  't  is  grievous  to  deny  ' 
This  he  will  choose,  and  whispering  asks  the  pric* 
The  purchase  dreadful,  but  the  portion  nice  ; 
Within  the  pocket  he  explores  the  pence  ; 
Without,  temptation  strikes  on  either  sense, 
The  sight,  the  smell ; — but  then  he  thinks  again 
O  money  gone  !  while  fruit  nor  taste  remain. 
Meantime  there  comes  an  eager  thoughtless  boy. 
Who  gives  the  price  and  only  feels  the  joy : 
Example  dire  !  the  youthful  miser  stops. 
And  slowly  back  the  treasured  coinage  drops : 
Heroic  deed  !  for  should  he  now  comply, 
Can  he  to-morrow's  appetite  deny? 
Beside,  these  spendthrifts  who  so  freely  live, 
Cloy'd  with  their  purchase,  will  a  portion  give  ! 
Here  ends  debate,  he  buttons  up  his  store, 
And  feels  the  comfort  that  it  burns  no  more. 

Unlike  to  him  the  Tyrant  boy,  whose  sway 
All  hearts  acknowledge  ;  him  the  crowds  obey : 
At  his  command  they  break  through  every  rule ; 


CRABBE'S  SCHOOLS  OF  THE  BOROUGH.  461 

Whoever  governs,  he  controls  the  school : 

'T  is  not  the  distant  emperor  moves  their  fear, 

But  the  proud  viceroy  who  is  ever  near.  (11) 

Verres  could  do  that  mischief  in  a  day. 
For  which  not  Rome,  in  all  its  power,  could  pay 
And  these  boy-tyrants  will  their  slaves  distress, 
And  do  the  wrongs  no  master  can  redress  : 
The  mind  they  load  with  fear;  it  feels  disdain 
For  its  own  baseness  ;  yet  it  tries  in  vain 
To  shake  th'  admitted  power; — the  coward  comes  again: 
'Tis  more  than  present  pain  these  tyrants  give. 
Long  as  we've  life  some  strong  impression  live ; 
And  these  young  ruffians  in  the  soul  will  sow 
Seeds  of  all  vices  that  on  weakness  grow. 

Hark!  at  his  word  the  trembling  younglings  flee, 
Where  he  is  walking  none  must  walk  but  he ; 
See  !  from  the  winter-fire  the  weak  retreat. 
His  the  warm  corner,  his  the  favorite  seat. 
Save  when  he  yields  it  to  some  slave  to  keep 
Awhile,  then  back,  at  his  return,  to  creep  : 
At  his  command  his  poor  defendants  fly. 
And  humbly  bribe  him  as  a  proud  ally  ; 
Flatter'd  by  all,  the  notice  he  bestows 
Is  gross  abuse,  and  bantering,  and  blows ; 
Yet  he's  a  dunce,  and,  spite  of  all  his  fame 
Without  the  desk,  within  he  feels  his  shame  : 
For  there  the  weaker  boy,  who  felt  his  scorn, 
For  him  corrects  the  blunders  of  the  morn ; 
And  he  is  taught,  unpleasant  truth  !  to  find 
The  trembling  body  has  the  prouder  mind. 

Hark  !  to  that  shout,  that  burst  of  empty  noise, 
From  a  rude  set  of  bluff,  obstreperous  boys. 
They  who,  like  colts  let  loose,  with  vigor  bound. 
And  thoughtless  spirit,  o'er  the  beaten  ground  ; 
Fearless  they  leap,  and  every  youngster  feels 
His  Alma  active  in  his  hands  and  heels. 

These  are  the  sons  of  farmers,  and  they  come  (12) 
With  partial  fondness  for  the  joys  of  home  ; 
Their  minds  are  coursing  in  their  fathers'  fields. 
And  e'en  the  dream  a  lively  pleasure  yields  ; 
They,  much  enduring,  sit  th'  allotted  hours. 
And  o'er  a  grammar  waste  their  sprightly  powers ; 
They  dance  ;  but  them  can  measured  steps  delight. 
Whom  horse  and  hounds  to  daring  deeds  excite? 
Nor  could  they  bear  to  wait  from  meal  to  mea], 
Did  they  not  slyly  to  the  chamber  steal. 
And  there  the  produce  of  the  basket  seize. 
The  mother's  gift !  still  studious  of  their  ease. 
Poor  Alma,  thus  oppress'd,  forbears  to  rise, 
But  rests  or  revels  in  the  arms  and  thighs. 

"  But  is  it  sure  that  study  will  repay 
The  more  attentive  and  forbearing?" — Nay! 
The  farm,  the  ship,  the  humble  shop  have  each 
Gains  which  severest  studies  seldom  reach. 

At  College  place  a  youth,  who  means  to  raise  (13) 


402  CRABBE  S  SCHOOLS  OF  THE  BOROUGH. 

His  s&ite  hy  merit  and  his  name  by  praise  ; 

Still  much  he  hazards  ;  there  is  serious  strife 

In  the  contentions  of  a  scholar's  life : 

Not  all  the  mind's  attention,  care,  distress, 

Nor  diligence  itself,  insure  success: 

His  jealous  heart  a  rival's  power  may  dread, 

Till  its  strong  feelings  have  confused  his  head, 

And,  after  days  and  months,  nay,  years  of  pain, 

He  finds  just  lost  the  object  he  would  gain. 

But  grant  him  this  and  all  such  life  can  give, 

For  other  prospects  he  begins  to  live  ; 

Begins  to  feel  that  man  was  fonn'd  to  look 

And  long  for  other  objects  than  a  book  : 

In  his  mind's  eye  his  house  and  glelie  he  sees. 

And  farms  and  talks  with  farmers  at  his  ease; 

And  time  is  lost,  till  fortune  sends  him  forth 

To  a  rude  world  unconscious  of  his  worth; 

There  in  some  petty  parish  to  reside. 

The  college-boat,  then  turn'd  the  village  guide: 

And  though  awhile  his  flock  and  dairy  please, 

He  soon  reverts  to  former  joys  and  ease, 

Glad  when  a  friend  shall  come  to  break  his  test. 

And  speak  of  all  the  pleasures  they  possess'd, 

Of  masters,  fellows,  tutors,  all  with  whom 

They  shared  those  pleasures,  never  more  to  come  ; 

Till  both  conceive  the  times  by  bliss  endear'd, 

Which  once  so  dismal  and  so  dull  appear'd. 

But  fix  our  Scholar,  and  suppose  him  crown'd 
With  all  the  glory  gain'd  on  classic  ground  ; 
Suppose  ihe  world  without  a  sigh  resign'd, 
And  to  his  college  all  his  care  confined  ; 
Give  him  all  honors  that  such  states  allow, 
The  freshman's  terror  and  the  tradesman's  bow  ; 
Let  his  apartments  with  his  taste  agree, 
Ana  all  his  views  be  those  he  loves  to  see  ; 
Let  him  each  day  behold  the  savory  treat. 
For  which  he  pays  not,  but  is  paid  to  eat ; 
These  joys  and  glories  soon  delight  no  more. 
Although,  withheld,  the  mind  is  vex'd  and  sore : 
The  honor  too  is  to  the  place  confined, 
Abroad  they  know  not  each  superior  mind  ; 
Strangers  no  uranglers  in  these  figures  see. 
Nor  give  they  worship  to  a  high  degree  ; 
Unlike  the  prophet's  is  the  scholar's  case. 
His  honor  all  is  in  his  dwelling-place ; 
And  there  such  honors  are  familiar  things  ; 
What  is  a  monarch  in  a  crowd  of  kings? 
Like  other  sovereigns  he's  by  forms  address'd. 
By  statutes  govern'd  and  with  rules  oppress'd. 
When  all  these  forms  and  duties  die  away. 
And  the  day  passes  like  the  former  day. 
Then  of  exterior  things  at  once  bereft, 
He's  to  himself  and  one  attendant  left ; 
Nay,  John  too  goes  ;  nor  aught  of  service  more 
Remains  for  him  ;  he  gladly  quits  the  door. 


CRABBE'S  SCHOOLS  OF  THE  BOROUGH.  463 

And,  as  he  whistles  to  the  college-gate. 
He  kindly  pities  his  poor  master's  fate. 

Books  can  not  always  please,  however  good  ; 
Minds  are  not  ever  craving  for  their  food  ; 
But  sleep  v.iU  soon  the  weary  soul  pre[)are 
For  cares  to-morrow  that  were  this  day's  care  ; 
For  forms,  for  feasts,  that  sundry  times  have  past, 
And  formal  feasts  that  will  for  ever  last. 

"  But  then  from  Study  will  no  comforts  rise?" 
Yes  !  such  as  studious  minds  alone  can  prize  ; 
Comforts,  yea  ! — joys  ineffable  they  find, 
Who  seek  the  prouder  pleasures  of  the  mind  : 
The  soul,  collected  in  those  happy  hours. 
Then  makes  her  efforts,  then  enjoys  her  powers; 
And  in  those  seasons  feels  herself  repaid, 
For  labors  past  and  honors  long  delay 'd. 

No  !  't  is  not  worldly  gain,  although  by  chance 
The  sons  of  learning  may  to  wealth  advance  ; 
Nor  station  high,  though  in  some  favoring  hour  ' 
The  sons  of  learning  may  arrive  at  power; 
Nor  is  it  glory,  though  the  public  voice 
Of  honest  praise  will  make  the  heart  rejoice : 
But  't  is  the  mind's  own  feelings  give  the  joy, 
Pleasures  she  gathers  in  her  own  employ — 
Pleasures  that  gain  or  praise  can  not  lje.<iow, 
Yet  can  dilate  and  raise  them  when  they  flow. 

For  this  the  Poet  looks  the  world  around. 
Where  form  and  life  and  reasoning  mun  are  found ; 
He  loves  the  mind,  in  all  its  modes,  to  trnce, 
And  all  the  manners  of  the  changing  r^ici^ ; 
Silent  he  walks  the  road  of  life  along. 
And  views  the  aims  of  its  tumultuous  throng; 
He  finds  what  shapes  the  Proteus-passions  take. 
And  what  strange  waste  of  life  and  joy  ibey  make, 
And  loves  to  show  them  to  their  varied  ways, 
With  honest  blame  or  with  unflattering  |iraise  ; 
'Tis  good  to  know,  't  is  pleasant  to  impart. 
These  turns  and  movements  of  the  human  heart  ; 
The  stronger  features  of  the  soul  to  paint, 
And  make  distinct  the  latent  and  the  faint ; 
Man  as  he  is,  to  place  in  all  men's  view, 
Yet  none  with  rancor,  none  with  scorn  pursue ; 
Nor  be  it  ever  of  my  Portraits  told — 
"  Here  the  strong  lines  of  malice  we  behold." 


464  LOVE-IIOPE  AND  PATIENCE. 

SAMUEL  TAYLOR  COLERIDGE. 
1772—1834. 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge,  was  the  youngest  son  of  Rev.  John 
Coleridge,  Vicar  of  St.  Mary  Ottery,  Devonshire,  where  he  was  born 
on  the  21st  of  October,  1772.  In  1782  he  was  sent  to  Christ's 
Hospital  School,  Loudon,  where  he  was  a  contemporary  of  Charles 
Lamb,  who  has  given  an  account  of  his  appearance  as  a  school-boy. 
In  1791  he  entered  Jesus  College,  Cambridge,  which  he  quitted  in 
1794,  without  taking  his  degree,  having  made  himself  obnoxious  to 
the  college  authorities  by  his  avowal  of  radical  political  opinions. 
He  soon  after,  in  great  pecuniary  distress,  enlisted  in  the  loth 
dragoons,  but  was  soon  discharged  and  repaired  to  Bristol,  where  he 
became  acquainted  with  Robert  Southey.  In  the  autumn  of  1795, 
he  married  Miss  Sarah  Fricker,  whose  sister,  the  same  day  was 
married  to  Mr.  Southey.  In  1796,  he  published  a  volume  of  poems, 
and  in  1797,  wrote  the  "  Ancient  Mariner,"  a  portion  of  "  Christabel," 
and  "  Remorse."  In  1798  to  1800,  he  resided  in  Germany;  in  1800, 
published  "Wallenstein ;"  in  1808,  the  "Friend;"  in  1816,"  the 
"Statesman  Manual;"  in  1817,  his  " Literary  Life ;"  and  in  1825, 
"  Aids  to  Reflection ;"  and  died  in  1834. 

LOVE,  HOPE,  AND  PATIENCE. 
"  O'er  wayward  childhood  would'st  thou  hold  firm  rule, 
And  sun  thee  in  the  light  of  happy  faces, 
Love,  Hope,  and  Patience,  these  must  be  thy  graces. 
And  in  thine  own  heart  let  them  first  keep  school. 
For  as  old  Atlas  on  his  broad  neck  places 
Heaven's  starry  globe,  and  there  sustains  it; — so 
Do  these  upbear  the  little  world  below, 
Of  education, — Patience,  Love,  and  Hope. 
Methinks  I  see  them  grouped  in  seemly  show, 
The  straitened  arms  upraised,  the  palms  aslope. 
And  robes  that,  touching  as  adown  they  flow. 
Distinctly  blend,  like  snow  embossed  in  snow.    • 
O  part  them  never  !     If  Hope  prostrate  lie, 

Love  too  will  sink  and  die. 
But  Love  is  subtle,  and  doth  proof  derive 
From  her  own  life  that  hope  is  yet  alive ; 
And  bending  o'er,  with  soul-transfusing  eyes. 
And  the  soft  murmur  of  the  mother  dove, 
"Woos  back  the  fleeting  spirit,  and  half  supplies  ; 
Thus  Love  repays  to  Hope  what  Hope  first  gave  to  love. 
Yet  haply  there  will  come  a  weary  day, 
TA'hen  overtasked  at  length 
Both  Love  and  Hope  beneath  the  load  give  way. 
Then  with  a  statue's  smile,  a  statue's  strength. 
Stands  the  mute  sister,  Patience,  nothing  loth, 
And  both  supporting  does  the  work  of  both." 


THE  SCHOOL  AND  THE  TEACHER  IN  LITERATURE. 


THOMAS  HOOD.      I'TDS — 1845. 


Thomas  Hood,  the  son  of  a  bookseller,  was  born  in  London,  in  . 
1798.  He  entered  the  counting-house  of  a  Russian  merchant  as 
clerk, — which  he  left  on  account  of  his  health,  for  the  business  of 
engraving,  but  in  1821,  became  sub-editor  of  the  London  Magazine, 
and  afterward  was  an  author,  by  profession,  till  his  death  in  1845. 
His  "Whims  and  Oddities,"  "Comic  Almanac,"  <kc.,  have  established 
his  reputation  for  wit  and  comic  power,  and  his  "Song  of  a  Shirt," 
"Eugene  Aram's  Dream,"  &c.,  indicate  the  possession  of  more  serious 
and  higher  capacities. 

His  ''Irish  Schoolmaster;'  "The  Schoolmaster  Abroad^'  "The 
Schoolmaster's  Motto;'  abound  in  whimsical  allusions  to  the  peculiari- 
ties of  Irish  and  English  schools  and  the  teachers  of  our  day — greatly 
exaggerated,  we  would  fain  believe. 

THE    IRISH    SCHOOLMASTER. 

Alack!  'tis  melancholy  theme  to  think 
How  Learning  doth  in  rugged  states  abide, 
And,  like  her  bashful  owl,  obscurely  blink, 
In  pensive  glooms  and  corners,  scarcely  spied; 
Not,  as  in  Founders'  Halls  and  domes  of  pride, 
Served  with  grave  homage,  like  a  tragic  queen, 
But  with  one  lonely  priest  compell'd  to  hide, 
In  midst  of  foggy  moors  and  mosses  green. 
In  that  clay  cabin  hight  the  College  of  Kilreen  ! 

This  College  looketh  South  and  West  alsoe, 
Because  it  hath  a  cast  in  windows  twain  ; 
Crazy  and  crack'd  they  be,  and  wind  doth  blow 
Thorough  transparent  holes  in  every  pane. 
Which  Dan,  with  many  paines,  makes  whole  again, 
With  nether  garments,  which  his  thrift  doth  teach 
To  stand  for  glass,  like  pronouns,  and  when  rain 
Stormeth,  he  puts,  "  once  more  unto  the  breach," 
Outside  and  in,  tho'  broke,  yet  so  he  mendeth  each. 

And  in  the  midst  a  little  door  there  is. 
Whereon  a  hoard  that  doth  congratulate 
With  painted  letters,  red  as  blood  I  wis, 
Thus  written, 

"CHILDREN  TAKEN  IN  TO  BATE:" 
And  oft,  indeed,  the  inward  of  that  gate, 
Most  ventriloque,  doth  utter  tender  squeak, 


466  HOOD'S  IRISH  SCHOOLMASTER. 

And  moans  of  infants  that  bemoan  their  fate, 
In  midst  of  sounds  of  Latin,  French,  and  Greeli, 
Which,  all  i  'the  Irish  tongue,  he  teachelh  them  to  speak. 

For  some  are  meant  to  right  illegal  wrongs, 
And  some  for  Doctors  of  Divinitie, 
Whom  he  doth  teach  to  murder  the  dead  tongues, 
And  soe  win  academical  degree  ; 
But  some  are  bred  for  service  of  the  sea, 
Howbeit,  their  store  of  learning  is  but  small, 
For  mickle  waste  he  counteth  it  would  bq 
To  stock  a  head  with  bookish  wares  at  all, 
Only  to  be  knock'd  off  by  ruthless  cannon  ball. 

Six  babes  he  sways, — some  little  and  some  big, 
Divided  into  classes  six  ; — alsoe. 
He  keeps  a  parlour  boarder  of  a  pig, 
That  in  the  College  fareih  to  and  fro, 
And  pickcth  up  the  urchins'  crumbs  below. 
And  eke  the  learned  rudiments  they  scan, 
And  thus  his  A,  B,  C,  doth  wisely  know, — 
Hereafter  to  be  shown  in  caravan. 
And  raise  the  wonderment  of  many  a  learned  man. 

Alsoe,  he  schools  for  some  tame  familiar  fowls, 
Whereof,  above  his  head,  some  two  or  three 
Sit  darkly  squatting,  like  Minerva's  owls, 
But  on  the  branches  of  no  living  tree, 
And  overlook  the  learned  family  ; 
While,  sometimes,  Partlet,  from  her  gloomy  perch, 
Drops  feather  on  the  nose  of  Dominie, 
Meanwhile  with  serious  eye,  he  makes  research 
In  leaves  of  that  sour  tree  of  knowledge — now  a  birch. 

No  chair  he  hath,  the  awful  Pedagogue, 
Such  as  would  magisterial  hams  imbed, 
But  sitteth  lowly  on  a  beechen  log. 
Secure  in  high  authority  and  dread; 
Large,  as  a  dome  for  Learning,  seems  his  head. 
And,  like  Apollo's,  all  beset  with  rays. 
Because  his  locks  are  so  unkempt  and  red. 
And  stand  abroad  in  many  several  ways  ; — 
No  laurel  crown  he  wears,  howbeit  his  cap  is  baize. 

And,  underneath,  a  pair  of  shaggy  brow's 
O'erhang  as  many  eyes  of  gizzard  hue. 
That  inward  giblet  of  a  fowl,  which  shows 
A  mongrel  tint,  that  is  ne  brown  ne  blue ; 
His  rose, — it  is  a  coral  to  the  view ; 
Well  nourish'd  with  Pierian  Potheen, — 
For  much  he  loves  his  native  mountain  dew  ; — 
But  to  depict  the  dye  would  lack,  I  ween, 
A  bottle-red,  in  terms,  as  well  as  bottle-green. 

As  for  his  coat,  'tis  such  a  jerkin  short 

As  Spenser  had,  ere  he  composed  his  Tales; 

But  underneath  he  had  no  vest,  nor  aught. 


HOOD'S  IRISH  SCHOOLMASIER.  467 

So  that  the  wind  his  airy  breast  assails  ; 
Below,  he  wears  the  nether  garb  of  males. 
Of  crimson  plush,  but  non-plushed  at  the  knee  ;— 
Thence  further  down  the  native  red  prevails. 
Of  his  own  naked  fleecy  hosierie  :— 
Two  sanda'.s,  without  soles,  complete  his  cap-a-pee. 

Nathless,  for  dignity,  he  now  doth  lap 
His  function  in  a  magisterial  gown, 
That  shows  more  countries  in  it  than  a  map, 
Blue  tyict,  and  red  and  green,  and  russet  brown, 
Besides  some  blots,  standing  for  country-town  ; 
And  eke  some  rents,  for  streams  and  rivers  wide  ; 
But,  sometimes,  bashful  when  he  looks  adown, 
He  turns  the  garment  of  the  other  side, 
Hopeful  that  so  the  holes  may  never  be  espied  I 

And  see  he  sits,  amidst  the  little  pack. 

That  look  for  shady  or  for  sunny  noon, 

Within  his  visage,  like  an  almanack,— 

His  quiet  smile  fortelling  gracious  boon: 

But  when  his  mouth  droops  down,  like  rainy  moon. 

With  horrid  chill  each  little  heart  unwarms, 

Knowing,  that  infant  show'rs  will  follow  soon, 

And  with  forebodings  of  near  wrath  and  storms 

They  sit,  like  timid  hares,  all  trembling  on  their  forms. 

Ah !  luckless  wight,  who  can  not  then  repeat 

"  Corduroy  Colloquy,"— or  "  Ki,  Koe,  Kod,"— 

Full  soon  his  tears  shall  make  his  turfy  seat 

More  sodden,  tho'  already  made  of  sod,  • 

For  Dan  shall  whip  him  with  the  word  of  God,— 

Severe  by  rule,  and  not  by  nature  mild, 

He  never  spoils  the  child  and  spares  the  rod. 

But  spoils  the  rod  and  never  spares  the  child. 
And  soe  with  holy  rule  deems  he  is  reconcil'd. 

But,  surely,  the  just  sky  will  never  wink 
At  men  who  take  delight  in  childish  throe. 
And  stripe  the  nether-urchin  like  a  pink 
Or  tender  hyacinth,  inscribed  with  woe  ; 
Such  bloody  Pedagogues,  when  they  shall  know, 
By  useless  birches,  that  forlorn  recess. 
Which  is  no  holiday,  in  Pit  below. 
Will  hell  not  seem  design'd  for  their  distress, — 
A  melancholy  place  that  is  all  bottomlesse? 

Yet  would  the  Muse  not  chide  the  wholesome  use 
Of  needful  discipline,  in  due  degree. 
Devoid  of  sway,  what  wrongs  will  time  produce, 
Whene'er  the  twig  untrained  grows  up  a  tree, 
This  shall  a  Carder  ;  that  a  Whiteboy  be, 
Ferocious  leaders  of  atrocious  bands. 
And  Learning's  help  be  used  for  infamie, 
By  lawless  clerks,  that,  with  their  bloody  hands, 
In  raurder'd  English  write  Rock's  murderous  commands 


468  HOOD'S  miSH  schoolmaster. 

But  ah  !    what  shrilly  cry  doth  now  alarm 
The  sooty  fowls  that  dozed  upon  the  beam, 
All  sudden  fluttering  from  the  brandish'd  arm, 
And  cackling  chorus  with  the  human  scream. 
Meanwhile,  the  scourge  plies  that  unkindly  seam 
In  Phelim's  brogues,  which  bares  his  naked  skin. 
Like  traitor  gap  in  warlike  fort,  I  deem, 
That  falsely  let  the  fierce  besieger  in. 
Nor  seeks  the  Pedagogue  by  other  course  to  win. 

No  parent  dear  he  hath  to  heed  his  cries ; —  • 
Alas  !  his  parent  dear  is  far  aloof, 
And  deep  in  Seven-Dial  cellar  lies. 
Killed  by  kind  cudgel-play,  or  gin  of  proof. 
Or  clirabeth,  catwise,  on  some  London  roof, 
Singing,  perchance,  a  lay  of  Erin's  Isle, 
Or,  whilst  he  labors,  weaves  a  fancy-woof, 
Dreaming  he  sees  his  home, — his  Phelim  smile  ; — 
Ah  me  !  that  luckless  imp,  who  weepeth  all  the  while! 

Ah !   who  can  paint  that  hard  and  heavy  time. 
When  first  the  scholar  lists  in  Learning's  train, 
And  mo\ints  her  rugged  steep,  enforc'dto  climb. 
Like  sooty  imp,  by  sharp  posterior  pain, 
From  bloody  tw  ig,  and  eke  that  Indian  cane, 
Wherein,  alas  !  no  sugar'd  juices  dwell, 
For  this,  the  while  one  stripling's  sluices  drain, 
Another  weepeth  over  childblains  fell, 
Always  upon  the  heel,  yet  never  to  be  well! 

Anon  a  third,  for  this  delicious  root. 
Late  ravish'd  from  his  tooth  by  elder  chit, 
So  soon  is  human  violence  afoot, 
So  hardly  is  the  harmless  bitter  bit! 
Meanwhile,  the  tyrant,  with  untimely  wit 
And  mouthing  face,  derides  the  small  one's  moan, 
Who,  all  lamenting  for  his  loss,  doth  sit. 
Alack, — mischance  comes  seldomtimes  alone. 
But  aye  the  worried  dog  must  rue  more  curs  than  one. 

For  lo  !  the  Pedagogue,  with  sudden  drub. 
Smites  his  scald-head,  that  is  already  sore, — 
Superfluous  wound, — such  is  Misfortune's  rub! 
Who  straight  makes  answer  with  redoubled  roar, 
And  sheds  salt  tears  twice  faster  than  before, 
That  still,  with  backward  fist,  he  strives  to  dry; 
Washing,  with  brackish  moisture,  o'er  and  o'er, 
His  muddy  cheek,  that  grows  more  foul  thereby, 
Till  all  his  rainy  face  looks  grim  as  rainy  sky. 

So  Dan,  by  dint  of  noise,  obtains  a  peace, 
And  with  his  natural  untender  knack, 
By  new  distress,  bids  former  grievance  cease. 
Like  tears  dried  up  with  rugged  huckaback, 
That  sets  the  mournful  visage  all  awrack  ; 
Yet  soon  the  childish  countenance  will  shine 


irOOD'S  IRISH  SCHOOLMASTER.  469 

Even  as  thorough  stonns  the  soonest  slack, 
For  grief  and  beef  in  adverse  ways  incline, 
This  keeps,  and  that  decays,  when  duly  soaked  in  brine. 

Now  all  is  hushed,  and,  with  a  look  profound. 
The  Dominie  lays  ope  the  learned  page  ; 
(So  be  it  called)  although  he  doth  expound 
Without  a  book,  both  Greek  and  Latin  sage; 
Now  telleth  he  of  Rome's  rude  infant  age, 
How  Romulus  was  bred  in  savage  wood. 
By  wet-nurse  wolf,  devoid  of  wolfish  rage ;  • 

And  laid  foundation-stone  of  walls  of  mud. 
But  watered  it,  alas  !  with  warm  fraternal  blood. 

Anon,  he  turns  to  that  Homeric  war, 
How  Troy  was  sieged  like  Londonderry  town ; 
And  stout  Achilles,  at  his  jaunting-car. 
Dragged  mighty  Hector  with  a  bloody  crown: 
And  eke  the  bard,  that  sung  of  their  renown. 
In  garb  of  Greece,  most  beggar-like  and  torn. 
He  paints,  with  colly,  wand'ring  up  and  down. 
Because,  at  once,  in  seven  cities  born  ; 
And  so,  of  parish  rights,  was,  all  his  days,  forlorn, 

Anon,  through  old  Mythology  he  goes, 
Of  gods  defunct,  and  all  their  pedigrees. 
But  shuns  their  scandalous  amours,  and  shows 
How  Plato  wise,  and  clear-ey'd  Socrates, 
Confess'd  not  to  those  heathen  hes  and  shes ; 
But  thro'  the  clouds  of  the  Olympic  cope 
Beheld  St.  Peter,  with  his  holy  keys. 
And  own'd' their  love  was  naught,  and  bow'd  to  Pope 
Whilst  all  their  purblind  race  in  Pagan  mist  did  group* 

From  such  quaint  themes  he  turns,  at  last  aside. 
To  new  philosophies,  that  still  are  green, 
And  shows  what  railroads  have  been  track'd,  to  guide 
The  wheels  of  great  political  machine  ; 
If  English  corn  should  grow  abroad,  I  ween, 
And  gold  be  made  of  gold,  or  paper  sheet; 
How  many  pigs  be  born,  to  each  spalpeen  ; 
And,  ah !  how  man  shall  thrive  beyond  his  meat, — 
With  twenty  souls  alive,  to  one  square  sod  of  peat ! 

Here,  he  makes  end  ;  and  all  the  fry  of  youth, 
That  stood  around  with  serious  look  intense. 
Close  up  again  their  gaping  eyes  and  mouth. 
Which  they  had  opened  to  his  eloquence. 
As  if  their  hearing  were  a  three-fold  sense. 
But  now  the  current  of  his  words  is  done, 
And  whether  any  fruits  shall  spring  from  thence, 
In  future  time,  with  any  mother's  son ! 
It  is  a  thing,  God  wot !  that  can  be  told  by  none. 

Now  by  the  creeping  shadows  of  the  noon, 
The  hour  is  come  to  lay  aside  their  lore ; 
The  cheerful  pedagogue  perceives  it  soon, 


«?0 


HOODS  IRISH  SCHOOLMASTER. 

And  cries,  "  Bei^one  !"  unto  the  imps, — and  four 
Snatch  their  two  hats  and  struggle  for  the  door, 
Like  ardent  s|iirits  vented  from  a  cask. 
All  blythe  and  boisterotis, — I)at  leave  two  more. 
With  Reading  made  Uneasy  for  a  task, 
To  weep,  whilst  all  their  mates  in  merry  sunshine  bask. 

Like  sportive  Elftns,  cm  the  verdcnt  sod. 
With  tender  moss  so  sleekly  overgrown. 
That  doth  not  hurt,  bnt  kiss  the  sole  unshod. 
So  soothly  kind  is  Erin  to  her  own  ! 
And  one,  at  Hare  and  Hound,  plays  all  alone, — 
For  Phelim's  gone  lo  tend  bis  step-dame's  cow  ; 
Ah  !  Phelim's  step-dan)e  is  a  canker'd  crone  ! 
Whilst  other  twain  play  at  an  Irish  row. 
And,  with  shillelah  small,  break  one  another's  brow  ! 

But  careful  Dominie,  with  ceaseless  thrifty 
Now  changeth  ferula  for  rural  hoe  j 
But,  first  of  all,  with  tender  band  doth  shift 
His  college  gown,  because  of  solar  glow, 
And  hangs  it  on  a  bush,  to  scare  the  crow  : 
Meanwhile,  he  plants  in  earth  the  dappled  bean. 
Or  trains  the  young  potatoes  all  a-row. 
Or  plucks  the  fragrant  leek  for  pottage  green, 
With  that  crisp  curly  herb,  call'd  Kale  in  Aberdeen. 

And  so  he  wisely  spends  the  fruitful  hours. 
Linked  each  to  each  by  labour,  like  a  bee; 
Or  rules  in  Learning's  hall,  or  trims  her  bow'rs  ; — 
Would  there  were  many  more  such  wights  as  he, 
To  sway  each  capital  academic 
Of  Cam  and  Isis,  for  alack  !  at  each 
There  dwells,  I  wot,  some  dronish  Dominie, 
That  does  no  garden  work,  nor  yet  doth  teach. 
But  wears  a  floury  head,  and  talks  in  flow'ry  speech ! 


ife<*^^; 


NEW  ENGLAND  COUNTRY  SCHOOL.  47^ 


THE  NEW  ENGLAND  COUNTRY  SCHOOU 

The  following  sketch  of  a  Country  School  in  New  England — "  as  it 
teas,"  is  copied  from  the  "  Columbian  Muse,  a  selection  of  American 
Poetry,  from  various  authors— published  by  Matthew  Carey,  Phila- 
delphia^ 1794," — where  it  is  credited  to  the  A^ew  Ham2JsJdre  Spy, 

THE  COUNTRV   SCHOOL 

"  Put  to  the  door — the  school's  begun — 
Stand  in  your  places  every  one, — 
AUend, " 

»•■♦•■ 

"Read  in  the  bible, — tell  the  place — " 
"Job  twentieth  and  the  seventeenth  verse — 
"Caleb,  begin."     "And — he — shall — suck — 

Sir, — Moses  got  a  pin  and  stuck " 

*'  Silence, — slop  Caleb — Moses  !  here  !" 

"  What's  this  complaint  ?"  "  I  didn't,  Sir," — 

"  Hold  up  your  hand, — What  is't  a  pin  ?" 

"  O  dear,  I  won't  do  so  agin," 

"  Read  on."     "  The  increase  of  his  b — ^b — borse — ^' 

"Hold:  H,  O,  U,  S,  E,  spells  house." 

"  Sir,  what's  this  word  ?  for  I  can't  tell  it." 

"  Can't  you  indeed  !     Why  spell  it,"    "  Spell  it." 

"  Begin  yourself,  I  say,"    "  Who,  I  ?" 

"  Yes,  try.     Sure  j'ou  can  spell  it,"    ■"Try," 

•'  Go,  take  your  seats  and  primers,  go. 

You  sha'n't  abuse  the  bible  so." 

"Will  pray  Sir  Master  mend  my  pen?" 
"  Say,  Master,  that's  enough.     Here  Ben, 
Is  this  your  copj'  ?"     "  Can't  you  tell  ?" 
"  Set  all  your  letters  parallel." 
"  I've  done  my  sum — 'tis  just  a  groat — " 
"  Let's  see  it."    "  Master,  m'  I  g'  out  ? 
"Yes, — bring  some  wood  in — What's  that  noise  f" 
"  It  isn't  I,  Sir,  it's  them  boys." 

"  Come  Billy,  read — What's  that !"     "  That's  A — " 
"  Sir,  Jira  has  snatch'd  my  rule  away — " 
»  "  Return  it,  James.     Here,  rule  with  this — 

Billy,  read  on," — "That's  crooked  S." 
"  Read  in  the  Spelling-book — Begin." 
"  The  boys  are  out" — "  Then  call  them  in — " 
"  My  nose  bleeds,  mayn't  I  get  some  ice. 
And  hold  it  in  my  breeches  ?" — "  Yes." 
"  John,  keep  your  seat."     "  My  sum  is  more — " 
"Then  do't  again — Divide  by  four. 
By  twelve,  and  twenty — Mind  the  rule. 
Now  speak,  Manassah,  and  spell  tool." 
"  I  can't"—"  Well  try"—"  T,  W,  L." 
"  Not  wash'd  your  hands  yet,  booby,  ha  ? 
You  had  your  orders  yesterday. 
Give  me  the  ferrule,  hold  your  hand." 
"  Oh !  Oh !"    "  There,— mind  my  next  command." 


472  NEW  ENGLAND  COUNTRY  SCHOOL. 

"  The  grammar  read.    Tell  where  the  place  is." 
"  C  sounds  like  K  in  cat  and  cases." 
"  My  book  is  torn."    "  The  next."    "  Here  not — " 
"  E  final  makes  it  long — say  note. 
What  are  the  stops  and  marks,  Susannah?" 
"Small  points,  Sir." — "And  how  many,  Hannah?" 
"  Four,  Sir."    "  How  many,  George  ?     You  look  :" 
"  Here's  more  than  fifty  in  my  book." 
"  How's  this  ?  Just  come,  Sam  ?"     "  Why  I've  been- 
"  Who  knocks  ?"     "  I  don't  know.  Sir."     "  Come  in.' 
"  Your  most  obedient.  Sir  ?"    "  And  yours." 
"  Sit  down.  Sir."     "  Sam,  put  to  the  doors." 
"  What  do  you  bring  to  tell  that's  new  !" 
"Nothing,  that's  either  strange  or  true. 
What  a  prodigious  school !  I'm  sure 
You've  got  a  hundred  here,  or  more. 
A  word,  Sir,  if  you  please."     "  I  will — 
You  girls,  till  I  come  in  be  still." 

"  Come,  we  can  dance  to  night — so  you 
Dismiss  your  brain  distracting  crew. 
And  come — For  all  the  girls  are  there. 
We'll  have  a  fiddle  and  a  player." 
"Well,  mind  and  have  the  sleigh-bells  sent, 
I'll  soon  dismiss  my  regiment.*' 

"  Silence  !  The  second  class  must  read 
As  quick  as  possible — proceed. 
Not  found  your  book  yet?  Stand — be  fix'd — 
The  next  read,  stop — the  next — the  next. 
You  need  not  read  again,  'tis  well." 
"  Come  Tom  and  Dick,  chuse  sides  to  spell. 
"Will  this  word  do?"     "  Yes,  Tom  spell  dunce. 
Sit  still  there  all  you  little  ones." 
"I've  got  a  word,"  "Well,  name  it."     "  Gizzard." 
"You  spell  it  Sampson."     "  G,  I,  Z." 
"  Spell  conscience.  Jack."    "  K,  O,  N,- 
S,  H,  U,  N,  T,  S."    "  Well  done  !" 
"Put  out  the  next" — "mine  is  folks." 
"Tim,  spell  it"—"  P,  H,  O,  U,  X." 
"  O  shocking  !  Have  you  all  try'd  ?"     "  No." 
"  Say  Master,  but  no  matter,  go — 
Lay  by  your  books — and  you,  Josiah, 
Help  Jed  to  make  the  morning  fire." 


INDEX  TO   ENGLISH   PEDAGOGY. 


A-B-C,  how  tnught,  417,  306. 

Academy,  Milton's  Plan  of,  J50,  181. 

Academicum  Nosocomiuni.or  College  of  Health,  304. 

Acting  of  I'lays — Bacon  and  Rauiner  on,  9'i. 

Active  Amusenieiits,  40. 

Activity,  Mental,  351. 

Ad  Cleruni,  Sermon  at  Cambridge,  173. 

Addison,  J.,  Sculpture  and  Education,  16. 

Admission  and  Matriculation,  172. 

Advice  of  VV.  P.,  on  Trade  Schools,  197. 

Advices  to  his  Son,  by  Lord  Burleigli,  51. 

Choice  of  a  Wife,  5'2. 

Education  of  Children,  52. 

Country  Home,  52. 

Hospitality  to  Friends,  53. 

Borrowing  and  Suretyship,  53. 

Litigation  with  the  Poor,  53. 

Conduct  towards  Rank,  53. 

Conversation,  53. 
iEsop's  Fables  in  Latin,  308. 
^Esthetics,  39.  ' 

AlTectation  in  Manner,  251. 
Agriculture,  Plan  of  College  of,  191. 

Professors  in  University,  190. 

Suggestions  by  Cowley,  100. 

Hartlib,  188,  idl, 
"  Milton,  182. 

Petty,  189. 
"  Locke,  337. 

Air,  exercise  in  open,  229. 
Allurements  to  learning,  71. 
Alphabet,  how  taught,  306,  41T. 
Amusements,  397. 
Anger,  in  parent  or  cliild,  364. 
Animals,  cruelty  to,  287. 

training  of,  345. 
Annotations  on  Bacon's  Essay  on  Education,  96. 

"  "  "  Studies,  104. 

Antiquity,  Bacon's  Estimate  of,  85. 
Architecture,  183. 
Aphorisms  on  Education,  11,  137. 
Archery,  39,  43. 

Archimedes,  application  of  Aphorism  of,  142. 
Aristotle,  38,  41,  117. 

Value  of  Pastimes,  41. 

Style,  38. 

Influence  of,  117. 

Bacon's  opposition  to,  87. 
Arithmetic,  201,  323. 
Arts,  Degrees  in,  172. 
Ascham,  R.,  Memoir,  23. 

Toxophilus,  24,  39. 

The  Schoolmaster,  37. 

Interview  with  Lady  Jane  Grey,  32. 

Character  as  a  Teacher,  25. 

''         Writer  on  Education,  38. 
"        Man,  38. 
Asterly,  J.,  55. 

Treatise  on  Riding,  5.5. 
Astronomy,  183,  190,  324. 
Astronomical  Observatory,  190,  203. 
Athens,  Example  of  Right  Training,  66. 
Attention,  314. 
Aubrey's  Account  of  Milton's  Studies,  167. 

Of  Milton's  Whipping,  175. 
Austin,  S.,  Attainable  ends  of  Education,  20. 


Authority  in  Studies,  111. 
Aversion  to  Study,  292. 
Awe,  or  Reverence  of  Parents,  241. 
Aylmer,  28,  32. 

Bachelor  of  Arts,  173. 
Bacon,  F.,  Memoir,  77. 

Raumer's  Estimate  of  Philosophy,  77,  84,  93 

Estimate  of  Antiquity,  85. 

Goethe,  Criticism  on,  89. 

Opinion  of  Schools  of  the  Jesuits,  91. 

Genetic  Method,  90. 

Methods  should  vary,  90. 

Public  and  Private  Schools,  91. 

Acting  of  Plays,  93. 

Essay  on  Custom  and  Education,  9.5 
Studies,  103. 

Annotations  on,  96,  104. 
Bacon,  R.,  80. 

Barrow,  1.,  Idea  of  Education,  13. 
Beating,  55,  170. 

Anselm,  55. 

Aschum,  55,  64. 

Locke,  243,  260. 

Socrates,  62. 

Spencer,  369.  • 

Beds  for  children,  236. 

Behavior,  formed  by  Practice,  not  by  lectures,  252. 
Bent,  natural,  91,  107. 
Bible  on  Education,  308,  309,  330. 
Biology,  392. 

Birch,  scholastic  uses  of,  422. 
Blood,  quantity  and  quality,  354. 
Bodies  of  Children,  347. 
Bond  R.,  teacher  of  Ascham,  23,  405. 
Book-keeping,  339. 
Books,  108,  139,  463. 
Botany,  183,  190. 
Bowling,  as  Recreation,  44. 
Bristol  Diamonds,  404. 
Brain,  Influence  on  Bodily  Functions,  354. 
Bully,  the  School,  440,  461. 
Burleigh,  Memoir,  51. 

Advices  to.  his  Son,  51.     Sec  Advices. 
Burke,  E.,  Education  of  Mankind,  17. 
Burton,  VV.,  My  First  Teacher,  416. 
Butler,  Bishop,  16. 
Butler,  S  ,  425. 
Byron,  Lord,  425. 

Cueser,  70. 

Callimachus,  43. 

Calling,  or  Natural  Inclination  to  Punuit,  107 

Campe,  209,  220. 

Cambridge  University,  23,  107. 

Milton's  Residence  at,  167. 

Classification  of  Students,  168. 

Terms  and  Doily  Routine,  169. 

Discipline,  170. 

Physical  Exercise,  171. 

Religious  Duties,  171 

Curriculuni,  172. 

Quadriennium,  172. 

Degrees,  173. 

Trieiinium,  174. 

Corporeal  Punishment,  170 


476 


INDEX  TO  ENGLISH  PEDAGOGY. 


Capacity  to  be  searched  out,  133. 

Cnptiousness,  30*2. 

Catechism,  309. 

Cecil,  Sir  VV.,  44,  51. 

CenEorioiisnees,  301. 

Ceremony,  30*2. 

CImiiiing  the  Dictionary,  404. 

Checke,  Sir  J.,  48,  55. 

Chemistry,  3U1. 

Chess,  20.  40. 

Chilling.  57,  246.  259. 

Chiltliihness,  247. 

Cliihiren,  the  Right  Bringing  Up,  50,  350. 

Speciiil  I'repHrution  for,  35(5,  31)3. 
Chronology,  324. 
ChrysoBtiim,  74. 
Cicero,  41. 

Citizen,  Knowledge  for  a,  396. 
Civil  Lnw,  325. 
Civility,  280.  2<^9,  299. 
CInssiciil  Leiirning,  57,218. 
Clothing,  Combe  on,  348. 

Liebig,  349. 

J^ocke,  230. 

Spencer,  248. 
Clulow,  W.  B.,  16. 
Cold,  and  Growth,  348. 

Liebig,  349. 

Locke,  227. 

Spencer,  348. 
Cold  VVHter,  228. 
Coleridge,  H.,  Life  of  Aschom,23. 

S.  T.,  Characteristics  of  the  Teacher,  464. 
College  of  Agriculture,  190,  191. 
Color,  382. 
Combe,  A.,  346,  349. 
Comenius  and  Bacon,  94. 

Locke,  219. 

England,  189. 

Janua  Reserota,  179,  189. 
Commiindniaiils,  the  Ten,  219. 
Commands,  few  but  decisive  and  just,  369. 
Commencing  Master  of  Arts,  181. 
Commencement  Uny,  173. 
Commendation,  145,  245. 
Common-1'lace-Book,  74. 
Common  Sense,  or  Wisdom,  271,  299. 
Commentiiries,  138. 
Com))nny,  253,  304. 
Compendiums,  138. 
Competition  of  Business,  351. 
Complaints,  280. 

Complexion,  as  Indication  of  Talent,  137. 
Composition,  328. 
Comimlsion,  55,  259,  293. 
Condiments,  231. 
Conduct,  260. 

Constructive  Habits  of  Children,  207. 
Contempt,  301. 
Contradiction,  301. 
Cook,  Sir  A.,  51. 

Cori)oreal  Punishment,  55, 170,  243,  432. 
Cowardice.  283. 
Courage,  284. 
Covetousness,  216. 
Cowley,  A.,  Memoir,  190. 

Plon  of  a  Philusojihical  College,  190. 

Professors  Resident,  190. 
"  Itinerant,  190. 

Astronomical  Observatory,  190. 

Chemical  Lahorntory,  190. 

Botanical  and  Zoological  Garden,  190. 

Course  in  .\griculture,  190. 

Military  Exercises,  190. 
Cowi>er,  VV.,  Memoir,  433 

Lines  on  his  Mother,  Home,  and  School,  433. 

Tirocinium,  or  a  Review  of  Schools,  436. 

Discipline,  453. 
Cox,  W.,  Natural  Order  of  Knowledge,  19. 
♦Jrabbe,  G.,  Memoir,  455. 

The  Good  Schoolmistress,  421. 


Crabbe,  G.,  the  Schools  of  the  Borough,  454. 

Craving,  240,  277. 

Cruelty,  287. 

Crying,  281. 

Curiosity,  112,  279,  289. 

Custom  and  Education,  by  Bncon,  95. 

Stronger  than  Inclination,  or  Precept,  95. 

Examples  in  Training  of  Inilians  and  Spartani,  95. 

Good  Habits  should  be  formed  Early,  96. 

Confirmed  by  Education,  96. 

Annotations  by  Wbately,  U6. 

Custom  and  Habit,  97. 

Biasing  the  Minds  of  Children,  97. 

Predominancy  of  Custom,  98. 

Power  of  Party-spirit,  09. 

Passage  from  Wish,  Hope,  Belief,  to  Action,  100. 

Indications  of  what  is  commonly  said  or  done,  101. 

Bacon's  Character  and  Career  an  example  of  Habi 
over  Precept,  102. 

Dancing,  44,  334. 

Darkness  and  Objects  of  Terror,  298. 

Dating,  Double  Mode  of,  167. 

Dejection,  or  Cowing,  243. 

Development,  353. 

Diary  of  a  Domestic,  quoted,  51. 

Dictation  r.ut  Teaching,  25. 

Didactics,  referred  to,  by  Milton,  189. 

Diet  of  Children,  345. 

Milton.  185. 

Locke,  23] 

Spencer,  345. 
Difficulties  should  not  be  multiplied,  313. 
Diodttti,  Friend  and  Correspondent  of  Milton,  176. 
Discipline,  Nature's  Law  of,  358. 

Illustrated,  Consequences,  362. 

Influence  on  Parents,  369. 

Aim  of.  Self-government,  370. 

Conditions  of.  Successful,  371. 

Picture  of  True,  by  Cowper,  453. 
Disgrace,  246. 

Disposition,  or  Liking  to  a  Study,  257. 
Distance  and  Reserve,  274. 
Disputation,  304. 
District  School  as  it  was,  416. 
Docendo  disces,  25. 
Dominion,  or  Love  of  Power,  276. 
Double  Translation,  37. 
Drawing  and  Designing,  381. 

Petty,  201. 

Locke,  410. 
Drawing  out  of  the  Faculties,  11,  16. 
Drink,  233. 
Dull  Wits,  59,  99. 

Eaily  Moral  Influence,  237. 

Early  Stimulatiim  of  the  Facultief,  353. 

Eating,  231,  345. 

Economics,  183. 

Educarennd  Educere,  11. 

Education  and  Custom,  12, 13,  95,  100. 

Education  Defined,  11. 

Addison,  16. 

Ascham,  12. 

Austin,  20. 

Bacon,  12. 

Barrow,  12. 

Bolingbroke,  12. 

Butler,  16. 

Clulow,  19. 

Cox,  19. 

Grote,  18. 

Hamilton,  15,  18. 

Harris,  16. 

Helps,  18. 

Hobbs,  14. 

Hooker,  13. 

Johnson,  15. 

Lalor,  20. 

Locke,  14. 

Milton,  13. 


INDEX  TO  ENGLrSll  PEDAGOGY. 


47? 


Education  Defined,  Paley,  17. 

Pnrr,  17. 

Pope,  14. 

Ramsden,  17,  19. 

Ruskin,  19. 

Shakspeiire,  11. 

Short  13. 

South  13. 

Spencer,  388. 

Whutelv,  18. 

Wliewell,  11 

Whichcote,  13. 

Wotton,  12. 
'ducatioii,  kinds. 

Abstruct,  375. 

Agriculturul,  191,  337. 

Academic,  1C3. 

Collegiate,  107. 

Empirical,  376. 

Govenimeiitul,  431. 

Home  25tj. 

Industrial,  199,  336. 

Intuitional,  377. 

Inevitable,  377. 

Natural,  19,  373. 

Private,  -213. 

Public,  131,  145. 

Pleasurable,  370. 

Real  and  verbal,  87. 

Rational,  376. 

Rote,  372. 

Rule,  372. 

Self-developing,  376. 
fiducution.  Processes. 

Building,  131. 

Direction,  18. 

Development,  11. 

Drawing  out,  11. 

Grafting,  18,  101. 

Growth,  16. 

Habits,  13. 

Husbandry,  132. 

Obedience  to  Law,  13. 

Preparation,   15. 

Restraint,  18. 

Self-activity,  376. 

Soundness  of  Mind  and  Body,  226. 

Sculpture,  16. 
Edward  VI.,  30. 
Elizabeth,  Queen,  28,  31,  69. 
Elmer,  Teacher  of  Lady  Jaue  Grey,  32. 
Emulation,  444. 
Encouragement,  244,  290. 
English  Language,  327,  323. 
English  Law,  326. 
Epitome,  75,  138. 
Epistolary  Composition,  327. 
Ergastula  Liternria,  20U. 
Esteem  of  Others,  02,  222,  245. 
Eton  College,  Gruy's  Ode  on,  431 
Ethics,  325. 

Example,  256,  203,  266,  448. 
Excuses,  296. 

Excursions  into  the  Country,  187. 
^jiercise,  Physical,  37. 

Asclmni,  37.  ' 

Locke,  335, 

Milton,  lb5. 

Spencer,  350. 
Experience,  306. 
Eye,  The,  135. 

Familiarity  of  Parent  and  Child,  273. 
Fomily  Management,  393. 

Knowledge  necessary  to  Learning,  393. 
Physical  Welfare,  393. 
Moral  "        393. 

Mental  "        390. 

Fancy,  or  Artificial  Craving,  277. 
'atty  Matter  in  Fond,  340. 
ear  iia  a  Motive  to  Study,  63. 


Fear  as  a  Motive  to  Study,  Ajcham,  63. 

Locke,  264. 
Feet,  Treatment  of,  228. 
Felleiiberg,  377. 
Fellow  Commoner,  168. 
Female  Education,  28. 

Uueen  Elizabeth,  29. 

Countess  of  Pembroke,  29. 

Lady  .lane  Grey,  03. 
Fencing,  in  Military  Academy,  IS.?. 

Locke,  335. 
Ferula,  4U5. 

Fiction,  Works  of,  without  religious  principle,  US. 
Field  Sports,  for  Literary  Men,  42. 
Fishing,  as  Recreation,  41,43. 
Fool-hardiness,  283. 
Food  for  Children,  .345. 

Excess  and  Restriction,  34u, 

Quality,  347. 

Quantity,  'Ml. 

Variety,'  348. 
Forcing  System,  372. 
Form,  381. 
Fortilicntion,  183. 
French  Language,  311. 

Friendship  and  Confidence  of  the  Child,  273. 
Fruit,  340. 

Locke,  234. 

Spencer.  346. 
Fuller,  T.,  Memoir,  403. 

Holy  State,  cited,  43. 

Recreation,  43. 

The  Good  Schoolmaster,  403. 

Galen,  27,  40. 

Value  of  Active  Amusements,  40. 

Deprecates  excessive  attention  to  Music,  27. 
Galleries  of  Paintings,  203. 
Games,  350. 
Gardening,  337. 
Gedike,  220. 
Geography,  323. 
Geology,  120. 
Geometry,  383. 

Ascham,  27. 

Milton,  183. 

Petty,  201. 

Locke,  313,  324. 

Spencer,  383. 

Wyse,  383. 

Primary,  383. 

Em|iiricnl,  384. 
Gilfillan,  416. 
Gill,  A.,  Teacher  of  Milton,  164. 

Logonomia  Anglica,  164. 
Girls,  Education  of,  270,  350. 

Petty,  207. 

Spencer,  350. 

Pliysicul  Exercises  for,  'JM. 

Plays  and  Pastimes,  350. 

Forcing  System,  354. 

Crabbe,  458. 
Globes,  324. 

Gnosticism,  Modern,  102. 
Goblins  and  Demons,  297. 
God,  the  Love  and  Reverence  of,  297. 
Goethe,  on  Bacon's  Method,  89. 
Good  Breeding,  139,  251,  299. 

in  Tutor  or  Teacher,  207. 
Good  Nature,  298. 
Government  of  Children,  205,  371. 

Complex  and  Difficult,  371. 

Knowled,^e  for,  required,  371. 
Governor,  or  Private  Tutor,  205. 

Qualifications  and  Duties  of,  267. 
Grafting  of  a  Tree,  and  Education,  100. 
Grammar,  when  and  why  Taught,  317. 

Ascham,  70,  74. 

Locke  on,  316. 

Spencer,  373. 
Grant,  Dr..  23 


478 


INDEX  TO  ENGLISH  PEDAGOGY. 


Gray,  T.,  Memoir,  426. 

Ode  on  Eton  College,  438. 

Education  nnd  Government,  431. 
Greek  Langunge,  25,  166,  182,  332. 

Proverb,  Love  of  Learning,  J5. 
Grey,  Lady  Jane,  33. 

Interview  vv-ith  Ascham,  32. 

Coni|iliment  to  her  Teacher,  32. 

Letter  of  Ascham  in  Greek,  33 
Grote,  J.,  18. 

Definition  of  Education,  18 
Growth,  Expenditure  of  Vitality  in,  347. 

nnd  Development,  Antagonism  of,  353. 
Gymnastics  and  Plays,  351. 

riabit,  Force  of,  12,  13,  14,249. 
llabiLs,  Necessity  of  Forming,  16,  248. 

Formed  Insensibly,  99. 
Hadden,  VV.,  54. 
(la)ipiness,  a  Tonic,  351. 

A  Test  of  Utility,  376. 
Hardening  Process,  Locke  on,  229. 

Spencer,  348. 
Hardiness,  286. 
Harris,  J.,  16. 
Hartgrave,  405. 
Hartlib,  S.,  178,  188,  190. 

Preface  to  Plan  of  College,  191. 

Plan  of  Ciillege  of  Husbandry  Learning,  192. 

Office  of  Public  Address,  199'. 
Head,  Covering  of,  227. 
Health,  226. 

A  Duty,  355. 
Heart  of  a  Nation,  17 
Helps,  A.,  18. 
Hermes,  quoted,  16. 
History,  Study  of,  119,  325. 

Dwells  too  little  on  every-day  Life,  119. 

Studied  to  find  certain  Facts,  119. 
Hobb3,  T.,  14. 
Home  Education,  256. 

of  Milton,  160. 
Hood,  T.,  Memoir,  465. 

The  Iri?h  Schoolmaster,  405. 
Hooker,  K.,  on  Law,  13. 
Hoole,  Charles,  189. 
Horace,  cited,  97,  405. 
Hornbook,  425. 
Horseback  Riding,  40   186. 
Howe,  Margaret,  Wife  of  R.  Ascham,  34. 
Humility,  302. 
Humoring,  or  Fondling,  237. 
Hunting,  43. 

Lord  Burleigh  on,  43. 
Husbandry  Learning,  191. 

College  for,  192. 

Idleness  in  Children,  not  Natural,  294,  377. 
Ignorance,  Knowledge  of  our  Own,  106. 

Sources  of,  106. 
Imagination,  120. 

Office  of,  in  Study  of  History,  121. 
Imitation,  in  learning  a  Language,  76. 
Inclinations,  Mastery  of,  278. 
Indifference  to  Knowledge,  291. 
Industrial  Success,  389. 
Informare,  11. 
Information,  11. 
Inqulsitiveness,  291. 
Insegnare,  11. 

Instruction  should  be  Pleasurable,  386. 
Interlinear  Translations,  313. 
Interruption  of  Conversation  by  Children,  303. 
Intuition,  Basis  of  Teaching,  373. 
Intuitional  E.xercise  of  the  Perception,  377. 
Intuitive  Perceptions,  89. 
Inventions,  History  of,  204. 
Iiish  Schoolmaster,  the,  465. 
Italian  Language,  183. 

Januoc,  Milton's  Reference  to,  17SI 


Je«uit«,  Schools  of,  91. 

Jews,  German,  hardy  Habits  of,  229. 

Johnson,  S.,  15. 

Power  of  Habit,  99. 

Criticism  and  Strictures  on  Milton,  151. 

Love  of  Learning,  15. 

Studies  to  be  pursued  by  Youth,  152. 
Joinery,  337. 

Judgment  not  exercised  by  Mathematics,  114. 
Justice,  Love  and  Practice  of,  281. 

Of  Nature's  Law  of  Discipline,  368. 
Juvenile  Discipline,  357. 

Nature's  Law  of  Reaction,  358. 

Illustrations,  361. 

Consequences.  362. 
Juvenile  Good  Conduct,  368. 

Too  Much  Expected,  368. 

Kepler,  78. 

Knowledge,  Desire  of,  15,  17,  61,  279. 
Is  Power,  95. 

Of  our  own  Ignorance,  106. 
Value  of  a  Little,  107. 
Of  the  World,  for  a  Tutor,  269. 

For  n  Youth,  270. 
Continuously  Pleasurable,  386. 
Relative  Value  of,  3Kfi.  • 

For  Self-Preservatlon,  389. 

"    Industrial  Success,  389. 

"    Rearing  a  Family,  393. 

"    Physical  Training,  393. 

•'    Moral  "  394. 

"    Mental  "  395. 

"    Functions  of  a  Citizen,  396. 

"    Enjoyment  of  Nature,  398. 

"    Discipline  of  Faculties,  399. 

Labor,  Lycurgus  on,  42. 

La  Bruyere,  on  the  Study  of  Languages,  332. 

On  Politeness,  218. 
Lacedeemonians,  42. 
Lalor,  J.,  Education  Defined,  20. 
Language,  Learning  a  new,  70,  3.11, 

Why  Learned,  316. 
Languages,  Ancient,  332,  398. 

Modern,  398. 
Latin  Language,  70,  220,  322. 
Ascham's  Method,  70. 
Locke's  "        220,  311,  322. 

Cicero's  "        70. 

Milton,  180. 
Speaking,  71,312. 
Pronunciation,  181. 
Versification,  220,329. 
Law  and  Jurisprudence,  184. 
Layng,  H.,  Author  of  the  Rod,  422. 
Laziness.  292. 
Learn  by  Teaching,  25. 
Learning,  and  Experience,  67. 
Little,  Pope's  View  of,  104. 

"       Whately's,  104. 
or  Mental  Culture,  305. 
Secondary  to  Moral  Training,  305. 
by  Heart,  made  a  Pastime,  308. 
by  Rote,  372. 
Lesser  Pensioner,  168. 
Liberality,  to  be  Cultivated,  280. 
Liberty  in  Sports,  279. 
Life,  a  State  of  Education  for  Eternity,  20. 
Locke,  John,  Memoir,  209. 

Raumer's  Pedagogical  System  of,  211. 
Thoughts  on  Education,  225. 
Dedication,  225. 
Education  Defined,  226. 
1.  Physical  Education,  S!26 
Excessive  Tenderness,  227 
Warmth.  Clothing,  227,  230. 
Feet,  Bathing  in  Cold  Water,  228. 
Swimming,  Exercise  in  open  air,  229 
Diet,  Meals,  Fruit,  Drink,  231,  233. 
Sleej),  Bed,  235. 


INDEX  TO  ENGLISH  PEDAGOGY 


479 


Locke,  rhysic,  Prevention  and  not  Medicine,  236. 
2.  Moral  Culture,  237. 

Early  Influence  in  Formation  of  Habits,  237 

Craving,  240,  277. 

Punishments,  avoided  by  right  Habits,  242. 

Awe,  Mastery  of  Inclin's,  Submission,  243. 

Beating,  243,  263. 

Rewards  ond  Encourogements,  244. 

Reputation,  Esteem  and  Disgrace,  245. 

Childishness  and  Sports,  247. 

Rules,  few,  248. 

Habits,  Practice,  249. 

Affectation,  Manners,  251,  302. 

Company,  Public  Schools,  253. 

Vice,  Virtue,  255. 

Private  Education,  256. 

Example,  Tasks,  257. 

Inclination,  Compulsion,  258,  293. 

Chiding,  Obstinacy,  259,  260. 

Reasoning,  Whipping,  262. 

Private  Tutor,  or  Governor,  265. 

Familiarity,  Reverence,  273 

Temper,  Dominion,  275. 

Curiosity,  279,  289. 

Recreation,  279,  295. 

Complaint  of  each  other,  280. 

Libetality,  Justice,  280. 

Crying,  281. 

Fool-hardiness,  Courage,  Coward. ce,  283. 

Timorousness,  Hardiness,  280. 

Cruelty,  287. 

Sauntering,  Inattention,  291. 

Lying,  Excuses,  295. 

God,  Spirits,  Goblins,  Truth,  297. 

Common  Sense,  Breeding,  299. 

Roughness,  Contempt,  Censoriousness,  300. 

Contradiction,  Captiousness,  301. 

Interruption,  Dispute,  304. 
3.  Intellectual  Education,  305. 

Reading,  305. 

Writing,  Drawing,  Shorthand,  309. 

French,  Latin,  311,  322. 

Grammar,  Themes,  Versifying,  316. 

Memoriter  Recitation,  320. 

Geography,  Arithmetic,  Astronomy.  323. 

Geometry,  Chronology,  History,  324._ 

Ethics,  Civil  Law,  English  Law,  325. 

Rhetoric  and  Logic,  English  Language,  328. 

Natural  Philosophy,  329. 

Greek  Language,  332. 

Method  and  Order  of  Studies,  333. 
4    Exercises  in  the  vnri's  depart'nts  of  Educ,  334 

Dancing,  Music,  221,  334. 

Fencing,  335. 

Manual  Trades,  336,  338. 

Painting,  Gardening,  Joinery,  337. 
Recreations,  338. 

Mercantile  Accounts,  339. 

Travel,  310. 

Conclusion,  342. 
Logic,  Milton,  184. 
Locke,  221,326. 
Lord's  Prayer,  how  taught,  308. 
Love,  a  Motive  to  Study,  63,  69. 

in  a  Teacher,  464. 
Lloyd,  Sarah,  The  Schoolmistress,  426. 
Lying,  239,  295. 

Muchiavel,  on  power  of  Custom,  95. 

Man,  Subject  of  Education,  436. 

Management  of  Children,  356. 

Maiideville,  B.,  Essay  on  Charity  Schools,  107. 

Manners,  139,  251,  26H. 

Manual  l>ubor  and  Mechanical  Dexterity,  202,  336. 

Murcel,  C,  373,  374. 

Murcellinus,  134. 

Martial,  quoted,  36, 

Mason,  Sir  J.,  54. 

Mathematical  Reasoning,  117,  201. 

Mathematics,  59,  91,  114,  201,  331,  300. 

MeaU,  232. 


Medcalf,  Dr.,  23. 

Medicine  or  Physic,  in  general  Education,  183. 
Memoriter  Recitation,  321. 
Memory  necessary  to  the  Scholar,  61,  135. 
How  Strengthened,  321,  322. 
Artificial  Aids  to,  201. 
Mental  Activity,  Excess  of,  351. 

Training,  hard  and  easy  way  of,  91. 
Mercantile  Arithmetic,  222. 
Metaphrasis,  75.  • 

Metaphysics,  83,  180. 
Merchants'  Accounts,  339. 
Method,  Importance  of,  334. 
Mildmay,  Walter,  54. 
Military  Exercises,  186,  190. 
Recommended  by  Milton,  186. 
Cowley,  190. 
Milton,  147,  160,  178. 
Memoir,  147. 

Home  Life  and  Education,  147,  160. 
Private  Teacher,  162. 
St.  Paul  School,  163. 
As  a  Schoolboy,  166. 
Christ  College,  Cambridge,  167. 
Victini  of  Corporeal  Punishment,  175. 
Tractate  on  Education,  178. 
End  of  Learning,  12,  179. 
Definition  of  Education,  181 
Plan  of  an  Academy,  181. 
Mitford,  J.,  Answer  to  Johnson's  Strict,  on  Milton,  la2 
Modern  Languages,  311. 
Moral  Culture,  237,  356. 
Milton,  147,  184. 
Locke,  237. 
Spencer,  3.i6. 
Cowper,  452. 
More,  H.,  on  Practice  and  Habit,  99. 
Morysine,  Sir  R.,  31. 
Mother's  unconscious  Tuition  of  Objects   379. 

Power  over  Moral  Education,  51. 
Motives  to  Study,  63. 
Aschain,  63,  69. 
Pluto  on,  56. 
Milton  on,  182. 
Locke  on,  257. 
Mulcaster,  R.,  406. 
Music,  Ascham  on,  27,  59 
Galen  on,  27,  59. 
H.  Coleridge,  27. 
Milton,  28,  186. 
Locke.  221. 
My  First  Teacher,  416. 

Natural  Bent  of  the  Genius,  91,  107,  137. 
Natural  Consequences  of  Actions,  358. 
Natural  Philosophy,  Bacon  on,  83,  94,  100,  329 
Nature,  Study  of  the  Science,  331. 
Laws  of,  How  Ascertained,  90. 
Reactionary  Laws  of,  353. 
Nature's  Law  of  Discipline,  3158. 
Illiistrnted  in  a  Child's  Litter,  361. 
Not  being  ready  for  a  Walk,  362. 
Breaking  Playthings,  362. 
Advantages  of,  364. 
Navigation,  183. 

New  England  Countrv  School,  471. 
District  School  Teacher,  416,  419. 
Nicassius,  55. 

Nosocominin  Acndemicum,  of  Sir  W.  Petty,  204 
Nursery  .Mamigement,  357. 

Object  Teaching,  84,  189,  373,  378. 

Observing  Faculties,  373. 

Obstinacv,  260. 

Office  of  Common  Address,  198. 

Opportunities,  for  a  Pursuit,  107,  144 

Orbilins,  405. 

Over  Education,  354. 

Ovid,  42. 

Pain,  the  Punishment  of  Law  violated,  358. 


480 


INDEX  TO  ENGLISH  PEDAGORY. 


Painting,  337. 

Paley,  Fducntion  Defined,  15. 
Piirn|ihrn!'e,  in  Leiirniti';  Latin,  74. 
Parental  Duties,  Preparation  for,  356. 
Displeiisiire,  307. 
Igniirnnce,  393. 
Parent  and  Child,  Relation  of,  365. 
Parents,  Overfondness,  'i27,  240. 

Over  Estimate  of  Capncltv,  132. 
Parr,  S.,  Nhture  of  Education,  17. 
Party  Spirit,  Power  of,  99. 
Pa&sion,  Mind  to  be  kept  free  of,  314. 
Pastime,  Characteristics  of  true,  43. 

Place  of.  In  Education,  68. 
Pell's  Matliematicul  Treatises,  204. 
Peiiiber,  R.,  Letter  to  Ascliam,  25. 
Pembroke,  Countess  of,  29. 

Instructed  in  Latin  by  .\scham,  29. 
Penmansjiip.-Ascham's,  20,  34. 
Lord  Piilinerston  on,  20. 
Locke,  3(19. 
Pensioner,  at  Cambridge,  107. 
Persians,  Aim  in  Education,  66. 
Perspective,  .'{83. 
Pestalozzi,  377. 
Peter,  Sir  VV.,  54. 
Peltv,  Sir  W.,  189. 
Plan'  of  a  Trade  School,  199. 
Philosophical  College,  Plan  of  Cowley,  190. 
Physic,  236. 

Physical  Education,  220,  345. 
.Milton,  J8.5. 
Locke,  211,  220. 
Spencer,  34d. 
Physical  Indiciitions  of  the  Scholar,  61,  133. 
Comeliness  and  Perfection  of  Parts,  134. 
Complexion,  Head,  134. 
Eye,  135 
Physical  Science  in  Education,  151,  329,  399. 
Physics,  the  Mother  of  Sciences,  331,  373. 

Relative  Value  of  391. 
Physiognomy,  133. 
Plati.  41,  49,50,436. 
Plutarch,  132. 
Plav,  41,  43,350,  483. 
Phiy-place,  441. 

Pliiythings,  Supply  and  Restraint  of  294. 
Plays,  .Acting  of.  Bacon  on,  92. 

Kaumer,  93. 
Pliny,  Recommended,  26 

Poems  and  Tales,  Influence  on  the  Judgment   117 
Poetry,  Devotion  to,  220. 
Milton,  184. 
Locke,  320. 
Politeness,  218,  219. 
Political  Economy,  Student  of,  120. 
Politics,  Recommended  by  Milton,  184. 
Pope.  A.,  Power  of  Education,  14. 
Practical  Science,  183,  190,  199. 
Praise,  Love  of,  02,  145,  245,  336. 
Precocity,  to  be  Deprecated,  5H,  3.52 
Prfor,  Gingerbread  Horn-book,  425. 
Private  or  Home  Education,  254.  250. 
Promise  in  a  Child,  Marks  of,  01,  133,  13^. 
Public  or  Boarding  Schools,  253. 
Locke,  253. 
Cowper,  440. 
Crabbe,  4.59. 
PunishnienU,  242,  2.57,  364. 
"ursuit.  How  determined,  107. 

Quadrienniiim,  at  Cambridge,  172,  177. 
Ciuestions,  Preliminary  to  Study,  112. 

Of  Instruction,  1)2. 

Of  Examination,  112. 
(Quickness  of  Wit,  58. 

Raillery,  301. 

Ranisdcn,  Prof.,  17,  19. 

Ratich,  Obligations  to  Bacon,  94. 

Raumer,  on  Bacon's  Pedagogy  80. 


Roumer,  on  Bacon's  Pedagogy,  Locke'i,  309. 
Reaction,  Law  of,  in  Education,  358. 
Reading,  Office  of,  102. 

Mode  and  Purposes  of.  111. 

Questioning,  Analysis,  &c.,  112. 

With  Curiosity  excited,  112. 

Through  Colored  S|)ectacles,  110. 

Locke's  Thoughts  on,  306. 

Made  a  Pastime,  .307. 
Realism,  Verbal  and  Real,  87,  179,  189,  190,  220. 
Reasoning,  Conditions  for,  115. 

Candor  of  Mind  essential,  116. 

With  Children,  202. 
Recreation  to  the  Student,  42. 

Ascham  on,  39,  42. 

Aristotle,  41. 

Sir  Philip  Sidney,  Erasmuj,  Galen,  40. 

Retrospective  Review,  Kirk  White,  40. 

Fuller,  T.,  41,  43. 

Stillingfleet,  Ovid,  42. 

Swift,  Plato,  Whitaker,  43, 

Locke,  279,  337. 

Spencer,  397. 
Regency  at  Cambridge,  173. 
Regulation  of  the  Habits,  241. 
Religious  Instruction,  182,  297,  308. 
Reputation,  or  Esleeni,245. 
Rese-vitz,  2i9. 
Respect  for  others,  301. 
Rest,  41. 
Restitution,  367. 
Retrospective  Review,  38,  42. 
Reverence,  or  Awe,  of  Parents,  241,  275. 

For  Children,  256. 
Reviews,  185. 
Rewards  in  Discipline,  244. 
Rhetoric,  184,  320. 
Rich,  System  of  Short-hand,  310. 
Riding  Horseback,  40,  03,  180,  222. 
R<id,  The,  53,  243,  200,  422. 
Romans,  Examples  of  Temperance,  232. 
Rote  Learning,  Without  Understanding,  113, 

Teaching,  372. 
Roughness,  300. 
Rule-teaching.  372. 
Rules,  few,  248.  "^ 

Ruskin,  19. 

Sackville,  Sir  R.,  47,  54. 

St.  Anthony's  Free  School,  163. 

St.  John's  College,  Cambridge,  23 

St.  Paul's  School,  Milton  at,  103. 

Sauntering,  291. 

Scaliger,  31. 

Scholar,  Marks  of  Promising.  61. 

School  and  Teacher,  in  English  Literature,  401. 

Fuller,  T.,  403. 

Goldsmith,  O..  406. 

Lloyd,  R.,  408. 

Shenstone,  409. 

White,  H.  R.,  420. 

Crabbe,  G.,  421,  455. 

Gray,  T..  426. 

Hood,  T.,  405. 

Cowper,  W.,  432. 
School  Days  and  Plays,  442. 
School-house,  the  House  of  Play,  46. 
Schools  of  the  Borough,  by  Crabbe,  455. 

For  Infants,  4.55. 

Prejmratory,  450. 

Day  School,  457. 

Boarding  School,  4.58. 
For  Young  Ladies,  458 
F'or  Boys,  4.59. 

College  Life,  461. 

The  Scholar  and  Literary  Life,  402. 
Schoolmaster,  The  Village,  by  Goldsmith,  406. 

Delille,  407. 

Giltillan,  416. 

Hood,  4t)5. 
Schoolmaster,  the  Office  of,  how  Esteemed,  61,  403 


INDEX  TO  ENGLISH  PEDAGOGV. 


481 


Schoolmaster,  The,  by  Roger  Ascham,  27,  45. 
Preface,  44. 

Annotntioiis  on,  51. 

Book  I.     The  Bringing  up  of  Youth,  57. 

General  Maimer  anil  Temper  required,  57, 

The  aim  of  all  Good  Culture,  57. 

Cluick  Wits,  and  Slow,  compared,  58. 

Influence  of  e.xcessive  attention  to  Music,  59. 

The  Special  Marks  of  Promise  in  a  Child,  01. 

1.  Sound  and  comely  Physique,  61. 

2.  Good  Memory,  61. 

3.  Love  of  Learning,  61. 

4.  Eagerness  to  Labor,  62 

4.   Readiness  to  receive  froii.  another,  62. 

6.  Boldness  to  ask  for  Knowledge,  6i. 

7.  Love  of  Praise  for  well-doing,  62. 
Motives  to  Study,  Pleasure,  and  not  Pain,  62. 
Interview  with  Lady  Jane  Grey  at  Brodegate,  63. 
Discipline  enforced  kindly  but  firmly,  64. 
Dangers  from  excessive  License  to  Young  Men,  65. 
Bad  Example  of  the  Nobility,  65. 

Effects  of  Good  Education  of  Youth  illustrat'd,  06. 

Learning  by  Book  and  at  School,  67. 

Exercise  and  Pastimes  to  be  allowed,  68. 

Influence  of  Good  Example,  Oi). 

Foreign  Travel  discouriijjed,  70. 

Book  II.  The  Ready  Way  to  the  Latin  Tongue,70. 

Mode  of  Learning  Rules  of  Grammar  disc,  70. 

Oral  and  Explanatory  Method  preferred,  70. 

Double  Translating  from  Latin  into  English  and 
English  into  Latin,  71.  i 

Pupils  to  be  Aided  and  Encouraged,  and  not  left 
in  doubt,  itc,  71. 

Trying  to  speak  Latin  a  questionable  exercise,  72. 

Discrimination  of  Parts  of  Speech,  &c.,  72. 

Diligent  Reading  of  the  best  Authors,  73. 

Six  ways  for  the  Learning  of  Tongues  and  In- 
crease of  Eloquence,  74. 

1.  Translations,  74. 

2.  Paraphrase,  74. 

3.  Metaphrasis,  75. 

4.  Epitome,  76. 
Schoolmistress,  416. 

Shenstono,  409. 
White,  H.  K.,  420. 
Burton,  Warren,  416. 
Marine  Farmer,  419. 
Crabbe,  George,  421,  456. 
Science  in  Education,  394. 
Views  of  Milton,  151,  183. 
Johnson,  151, 
Mitfurd,  152. 
Hartlib,  188. 

Pettv,  189,  208.  . 

Cowlev,  190. 
Spencer,  388,  399. 
Scripture,  how  Studied,  108,  330. 
Sculpture  and  Education,  16. 
Seed-time,  42. 
Self-denial,  242. 
^  Evolution,  380. 

Government  of  Children,  371. 
Instruction,  376. 
Preservation,  389. 
Seneca,  135,  272. 
Serranus,  31. 

Severity  Unnecessary,  57,  259,203. 
Seven  Liberal  Arts,  177. 
Shakspeare,  Education  Defined  by,  11. 
Short,  Bishop,  End  of  Education,  13. 
Sliort-hand  Writing,  310. 
Sidney,  Sir  Philip,  40. 
Singing.  43. 

Silence  and  Solitude,  Love  of  in  Children,  130. 
Sitting  Still,  417. 
Sizar,  at  (Jamhridge,  168. 
Skill  and  Strength,  142. 
Sleep,  2:15,  351. 

Slowness  of  Development,  61,  133. 
Smattering  of  Knowledge,  105. 
Smith,  Sir  T.,  55. 
Treatise  on  English  Spelling,  55. 


Society,  Education  for,  253,  269,  398. 

Science  of,  392. 
Socrates,  on  the  average  Capacity,  61. 

Marks  of  a  promising  Scholar,  63. 

1.  Sound  Body,  63. 

2.  Memory,  quick  and  Retentive,  63. 

3.  Love  of  Learning,  64. 

4.  Love  of  Labor,  ti4. 

5.  Readiness  to  receive  of  another,  64. 

6.  Boldness  to  ask,  64. 

7.  Love  of  Praise  for  well-doing,  64. 
What  to  learn,  152. 

Sophisters  at  Cambridge,  172. 

Sophocles,  49. 

South,  Dr.,  Power  of  Habits,  13. 

Speaking,  fluent,  76. 

Sjielling  Reform,  55,  164. 

Spencer,  H.,  Thoughts  on  Education,  345. 

1.  Physical  Education,  345. 
Importance  of  Piiysical  Training,  345. 
Food,  345. 

Sugar  and  Fruit,  346. 

Quality,  Uuantity,  and  Variety  of  Food,  347. 

Clothing,  348. 

Exercise,  350. 

Excess  of  Mental  Activity,  351. 

Health  of  the  Brain,  Supply  of  Good  Blood,  352. 

Results  of  Modern  Physical  Treatment,  355. 

Preservation  of  Health,  Duty,  355. 

2.  Moral  Education,  356. 

S|)ecial  Preparation  for  Family  Management,  356. 

Nature's  Law  of  Discipline,  358. 

Examples  of  the  Rule  of  Natural  Reaction,  361. 

Consequences  of  Obedi.  to  Pareiitand  Child,  362,  369 

True  Relation  of  Parent  and  Child,  365. 

How  to  deal  with  Grave  Ulfences,  367. 

Too  much  expected  of  Juvenile  (iood  Conduct,  368. 

Commands  few,  but  Decisive  and  Consistent,  369. 

Self-government  the  Aim  of  all  Dlscudine,  370. 

Right  Government  complex  and  dithcult,  371. 

3.  Intellectual  Education  and  Studies,  372. 
Decline  of  Old  Methods,  372. 
Introduction  of  New  Method,  373. 

The  Order  and  Method  of  Nalure  to  be  followed,  374 
Guiding  principles  of  Education,  375. 
Application  of  Principle  to  Practice,  377. 
Intuitional  Exercise  of  the  Perceptions,  377. 
Object-lessons,  378. 

A  Mother's  Unconscious  Tuition  on  Objects,  379. 
Extension  of  the  tield  of  Object-teaching,  .itH}. 
Value  of  a  Love  and  a  Knowledge  of  Nature,  381. 
Drawing,  including  Form  and  Color,  381. 
Dimensions  in  Perspective,  382. 
Geometry,  Primary,  383. 

Empirical,  384. 
Acquisition  of  Knowledge  should  be  a  process  of 
self  instruction  and  continuous  pleasure,  386. 

4.  What  Knowledge  is  most  Worth,  388. 
Relative  Values  of  Knowledge,  388. 
Knowledge  requisite  to  Self-preservation,  389. 

Industrial  Success,  389. 
Mathematics,  390. 
Physics,  391. 
Clieniistry.  391. 
Biology,  392. 
Science  of  Society,  392. 
Rearing  and  disciplineof  the  family  Offspring,  393 
Functions  of  the  Citizen,  396. 
..Esthetics,  or  Education  for  Relaxations,  etc.,  397. 
Knowledge  requisite  for  purposes  of  Discipline,  399 
Prominent  value  of  Science,  399. 
Spirits,  297. 

Spontaneous  Activity  of  Children,  377. 
Sporting,  as  Exercise,  44. 
Stimulation  of  the  Faculties,  3.')2. 
Story-books,  Influence  of,  on' Character,  117. 
Stubbornness,  260. 

Studies,  calculated  to  mar  some  Minds,  28. 
To  be  varied  to  the  Peculiarities,  91. 
Necessary  to  Life,  151,  272. 
Trivium,  177. 
Quadrivium,  177. 


31 


482 


INDEX  TO  ENGLISH  PEDAGOGY. 


Studies,  Essny  on,  by  Bncon,  103. 

Purposes  of,  103. 

Uses,  defined  by  Experience,  J03. 

Bouks,  how  us^oii,  103. 

Adaptation  to  i'eculiurities  of  Mind,  104. 

Anuututions  on,  by  VVhutely,  104. 
Sturmius,  J.,  Letters  to  Aschum,  34. 

Cbarncter  of,  50. 
Style,  3iJ7. 

Sugar  in  Children's  Diet,  346. 
Swill,  on  Kunniiig  for  Exercise,  40. 
Swimming,  Fuller  on,  44. 

Locke,  2-jy. 

Tasks,  Study  not  to  be  imposed  as,  257. 
Teucbiiig.  Value  of,  49. 

Limited  by  ciipacitv  and  Industry,  151. 
Teacher,  48,''2l)5. 
Telling  and  Doing,  37G. 
Temper,  or  Natural  Inclination,  276. 

Observed  in  t'ports,  279. 
Temperaments,  Doctrine  of,  134. 
Tenderness,  227. 
Tbalassius,  35. 
Theages,  of  Plato,  56. 
Themes  in  Latin,  'MS. 
Theology  and  Church  History,  184. 
Things,  iJSludy  of,  207. 
Time,  an  Element  in  Education,  137. 
Timorousness,  285. 
Tirocinium,  or  A  Review  of  Schools,  436. 

Dignity  of  Human  Nature,  Body  and  Soul,  436. 

Natural  World,  and  its  love,  437. 

Necessity  of  Early  Culture,  438. 

Heathen  deities  crowd  out  Christian  Culture,  440. 

Love  of  play-place  and  School-room,  441. 

Picture  of  a  Public  School,  442. 

Evils  of  Emulation,  444. 

Filial  Love  and  Confidence  lost  by  Absence,  446. 

A  thoughtful,  prayerful,  accomplished  Tutor,  447. 

Domestic  Education,  449. 
Town  and  Gown,  in  Cambridge,  168. 
Toxophilus,  the  Schole  of  Shoolinge,  39. 

Writing  of,  39. 

Active  Amusements  of  Scholars,  40. 

Relaxation  and  Pastimes  Necessary,  41. 

Fuller  on  Recreation,  43. 
Tractable  Disposition,  136. 
Trnctute  on  Education,  by  John  Milton,  173. 

Origin  of,  178. 

End  of  Learning,  179. 

Errors  of  Modern  Education,  180. 

Plan  of  Academy,  181. 
Building,  181. 

1.  Studies,  181. 

2.  Practical  Exercises,  181. 

3.  Diet,  187. 
Trades.  School  of,  203,  206. 

To  be  Learned,  Locke,  338. 

History  of,  204.    ' 
Translations,  Value  of  Double,  29,74,  315. 
Travel,  Ascham  on,  70. 

Wotton,  139. 

Milton,  187. 

Petty,  207. 

Locke,  340, 
Tricks  at  School,  255. 
Triennium  for  Muster  of  Arts,  174,  177. 
Trivium,  )77. 
Truth,  298. 
Tusser,  T.,  46. 
Tutor,  or  Private  Governor,  265,  272,  447. 

(Jood  Breeding,  267. 

Knowledge  of  the  World,  269. 

Aim,  271. 
Tyrant  School-boy,  458. 

Udel,  N.,  Severity  of,  46.  405. 
University  ut  Cambridge,  167. 
University  Exercises,  169. 
University  Urnlor,  24. 
Usher,  School,  408. 


Versifying,  320. 

Vice,  Proclivity  to,  255. 

Vicious  Inclinations.  2(14. 

Village  Scho(d  and  Teacher,  English,  406,  409,  420. 

French,  4U7. 

Scotch,  416. 

Irish,  406. 

New  England,  416,  419,471. 
Virtue,  the  valuable  Purl  of  EiUication,  14,  256,  297 
Vitality  exjjended  in  Giowtli,  355. 

Walks  in  the  Field,  42 
Walton,  Isaak,40. 

Memoir  of  Sir  H.  Wotton,  123. 
Wants,  Natural  or  Fanciful,  277. 
Warmth,  or  Protection  from  Cold.  227. 
What  is  Education?  oi  Education  Defined,  11. 
Whately,  Archbishop,  9(i.  104. 
Nature  of  Education,  18,  100. 
Force  of  Custom  and  Habit,  97. 
Practice  and   Habit.  97. 
Example  of  the  Soldier,  98. 

"  '•       Partyman,  99. 

Studies,  104. 

Smattering  of  Knowledge,   105. 
Knowledge  of  our  own  Ignorance,  106. 
Study  of  the  Scriptures.  108. 
Deference  to  Masters  in  Studies,  111. 
Differing  kinds  of  Questioning,  112. 
Learning  by  Rote,  113. 
How  to  solve  puzzling  Difficulties,  114. 
Mathematics,  114. 
Poems,  Tales,  Fictions,  117. 
Miss  Edgworth's  Moral  Tales,  118. 
Historical  Studies,  119. 
Travels,  120. 
Political  Economy,  120. 
Use  of  Imagination,  121. 
Pleasure  Grounds  of  Knowledge,  121. 
Whewell,  W  ,  Education  defined  by,  11. 
Whichote,  13. 

Whipping,  at  the  University  of  Cambridge,  175 
Ascham  on,  55. 
Locke,  263. 
Layng,  422. 
Wilson,  423. 
Butler,  Byron,  425. 
Hood,  424,  405. 
Wife,  Lord  Burleigh  on  choice  of,  .'52. 
Wilson,  T.,  Author  of  the  Birch,  424. 
Will,  of  Children,  261. 
Wingfield,  Sir  A.,  23. 
Wisdom,  299. 

Wits,  Uuick  and  Slow,  59. 
Woman,  Health  of,  350. 

Education,  394. 
Words,  Leurning  of,  180. 
World,  Knowledge  of,  269. 
Worthinston's  Catechism,  309. 
Wotton,  Sir  W.,  12. 
Memoir,  54,  123. 
Provost  of  Eton  College,  126. 
Letter  to  Charles  1.,  128,  131. 
Educational  Apothegms,  131. 
Characteristic  Indications  of  the  Scholar,  132. 
Time,  an  Element  in  Education,  137. 
Successful  Beginnings.  138. 
Epitomes  and  Commentaries,  138. 
Discretion,  a  Gift  and  a  Product,  138. 
Value  of  Travel,  139. 
Good  Manners,  a  happy  Man,  139. 
Books  to  be  estimated  by  Uualily,  not  Qunntrty,  139 
Formality,  when  excessive,  sus|>iciuus,  14C. 
Applause  should  follow,  not  lead,  141. 
Opportiiiiitv  necessary  to  Success,  143. 
Wrestling,  184,  335. 
Writing,  or  Penmanship,  26,  309. 
Wyse,  T.,  374,  383. 

Young,  T.,  Teacher  of  Milton,  102. 
Youth,  Excessive  License  to,  65. 


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